


Between Two Thieves

by Snow_Glory



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-02
Updated: 2015-11-21
Packaged: 2018-04-29 12:18:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 24,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5127353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snow_Glory/pseuds/Snow_Glory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Many of us crucify ourselves between two thieves - regret for the past and fear of the future ~ Fulton Oursler</p>
<p>Aramis went to the monastery to find peace in the choices he made in his past. But when circumstances bring our Inseparables back together 4 years later, will his fear of the future keep him from making peace with his past?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ihadenoughofthis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ihadenoughofthis/gifts).



> So I started this as a little snippet to a friend on twitter. It went something like... imagine Aramis on his knees, all bound and head pulled back while the bad guys hurt him... and then suddenly I added plot and the whole thing spiraled out of control into this. 
> 
> I am terribly nervous as I have never written anything long before. 
> 
> I desperately need to thank @canadiangarrison and chancefangirl for all the endless editing they tried to do and for their encouragement. Also I must thank @ihadenoughofthis for loving just about anything I write :) I am truly out of my league with these ladies :)
> 
> Also I own nothing of which you recognize. Maybe the ladle? I'll own the ownership of that.

Many of us crucify ourselves between two thieves - regret for the past and fear of the future ~ Fulton Oursler

  
  


He was forced to his knees in front of the monastery where he'd spent the last four years, their hands on his shoulders to keep him there. His hands had been bound behind him, very tight and Aramis could already feel his hands and fingers becoming numb from lack of blood.

They had come into the monastery wild and angry, looking for the former Musketeer. His fellow monk brothers had tried to hide him, but it hadn’t taken long for Aramis to give himself up to protect the brothers. They’d dragged him through the main chapel proclaiming him unfit to pray before God, calling him all sorts of derogatory things relating to his former profession. That of course had incensed his fellow monks, but a quick shake of his head clearly stating to stay out of this had encouraged the brothers to back off. Aramis just hoped they weren’t planning a full staged revolt in the Monastery. He had been a soldier a good portion of his life and knew how to fight; most of the men inside had been Monks their entire lives and they weren’t built for fighting.

The bad guys, as Aramis had taken to calling them, after they failed to introduce themselves, had professed their undying loyalty to Spain. Also their hatred of anything related to the France, its people and especially the mongrels that called themselves Musketeers. It amused Aramis to no end, despite being apart from his Musketeer brothers for years, how he was still pulled back into the inseparables dealings. Obviously these guys knew that Aramis was still close to them and was using the monk as bait to get Athos to comply with their wishes.

Despite the desire to destroy France, Aramis knew he'd seen the leader of this group before and he was frantically trying to remember where. He was pulled from his silent musings by a blow to the side of the head nearly knocking him over. Aramis sighed as it would only further aggravate the concussion they had given him upon his surrender. The leader was now yelling furiously at Aramis, his spittle flying everywhere, yelling obscenities and asking questions that he had to know wouldn’t be answered by his captive. And if Aramis was to be honest he was ignoring the man in favour of trying to focus on getting the world to stop spinning and the funny looking moving dot of something far off in the distance.

“Enough,” Aramis said loudly. “You should just kill me now, there is no way the musketeers will comply just because you are holding myself and the monks captive. The captain of the Musketeers is busy with the war, he will not come for me.” Aramis hoped that they would see some reason behind his words, but it was immediately apparent they didn’t. Aramis knew his friend would come despite the tense relations between the two of them these past four years. The Spanish leader’s face scrunched up into a horrific, nightmarish expression and motioned to the men behind him. Aramis’ head was pulled back by rough hands in his hair and he gasped at the stinging pain.

“You’d be surprised...” said the leader trailing off a moment as he glanced over his shoulder at that odd dot Aramis had seen a few moments ago, “At the lengths that those Musketeers would go to bargain for your life.”

He ran his thumb down the side of Aramis’ neck smiling as the marksman shuddered. "You see my dear Musketeer? Monk? Whatever you call yourself these days." The man sneered "Athos and his army will allow us into France unannounced in exchange for your monk brother's lives. You are the key to getting him here." The man looked at him a moment longer before speaking again. "You don't remember me do you Aramis? All those years ago? That day you claim the Spanish raided a small slumbering party of innocent men in Savoy?”

Aramis gasped as memories came flooding in against his will. He hadn’t forgotten that mission in Savoy where all of his friends had been murdered in their sleep, he had however, managed to gain some closure over the years and hadn’t been plagued with visions in a long time.

“Yes I remember that night very clearly,” he responded darkly, “I remember the murder of 20 Musketeers, actually 21. Just because Marsac died years after doesn’t negate the fact that they were murdered and we were destroyed after that.”

“Ah yes so you would say, but my memory of the events are very different. Tell me Musketeer, had you made sure that all of those Spanish you slaughtered were dead? did you care that your colleagues had family waiting for them at home? Or was allowing my brothers gut to be sliced open and leaving him to die alone, a worthy sacrifice to allow your continued survival? Did you not think that Tobias could have been saved?”

Aramis’ eyes widened. “T...Tobias was...was a great Musketeer he died trying to save his friends!”

“Oh there is no doubt that Tobias was a great Musketeer, he joined the second he turned of age. Left his Spanish born family and defected to France. Your so called Captain had my brother so convinced of France’s superiority he rarely spoke to us. And then you got to survive while my brother died for a country he loved more than you could possibly ever!” He spat venomously and then pulled out a length of rag and wrapped it firmly around Aramis’ head effectively gagging him.

“You and your captain brought my brother to us and you couldn’t be bothered to act even the slightest bit remorseful. You wouldn’t even look my parents in the eye! Your Captain however, did look at me and told me I’d make a great Musketeer someday. Why would I join a failure of a regiment, when the sole survivor couldn’t even bear to die honorably among his comrades? I hated you and everything you stood for at that moment. I will have my revenge on you Musketeer, I will let your brothers watch you die and then I will kill Treville while he sleeps in his bed, thinking he is safe and sound”

Aramis grunted in sudden rage, pulling at his bonds and struggling to get to his feet. He hadn’t moved far before he received several swift kicks to his one knee. The pain was so intense it left the world around him blindingly white.

“That should prevent you from trying escape. Should that not deter you my men would be very happy to mimic this injury to your other knee.” He turned around and walked forward a bit, staring off into the distance.

When the colours returned to the world and his anger stopped burning quite so harshly Aramis attempted to focus and noticed it had gone eerily quiet. He glanced around and finally laid eyes on Tobius’ brother standing off to the side gazing into the distance. Aramis followed the man’s gaze to see that his small funny looking dot had grown larger and he could now make out horses and men, but nothing further.

He decided to take this short reprieve to take stock of his injuries. He had several long gashes on his arms and a nice-sized bruise on his lower jaw, from a spectacular blow by one of the Spanish men. He could also feel the trickle of blood running down the side of his face and down on to his neck caused by the second blow to his head a few moments ago. It was hard to breathe Aramis noted, but he didn’t suspect any of his ribs to be broken; more likely it was the angle that his arms were bound behind him and the multiple blows to his stomach that caused the shortness of breath. Those infernal hands were back in his hair holding his head in place and of course he couldn’t forget his now useless knee which he suspected wouldn’t hold any weight on it.

Aramis was again interrupted as his head was yanked again and he was manhandled to the side to kneel next to the leader. He could now hear the hoof beats of their impending company and was now curious as to whom it was, but the men had pulled his head back so far he couldn’t see anything but the sun blazing down from a crystal clear blue sky. He was also surprised to note, a blade was now being held to his throat and berated himself for not paying attention.

It wasn’t long before Aramis heard the group of men arrive and dismount their horses. They had obviously come in full armour because he could hear the clinking of metal as they walked towards this group of Spaniards. He also heard the unmistakable gasp from them upon seeing himself bound and bruised. He figured he looked fairly pitiful.

“Aramis?!” cried a very familiar voice.

“What have you done to him? What is this all about?” A second recognizable voice growled.

“I received a summons here to discuss a peaceful treaty amongst Douai and France," A third familiar voice stated quite dryly. "I was not aware that there was to be a hostage?"

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. I don't terribly have a posting schedule for this and it will just be updated when I get the chance :) But I can guarantee it's completed and will be finished.
> 
> I hope you all are enjoying this :)

Athos had not been surprised to find their enemies waiting in front of the monastery for him and his fellow musketeers. They dismounted from their horses and walked towards the leader of this group of miscreant men. What he had been surprised about was his old friend kneeling prone on the ground beside the Spaniards.

Athos had received an urgent summons a couple of days ago to make haste to the Douai Monastery. It was to be the staging ground to a peaceful treaty amongst the small province to France. Athos had been greatly relieved to receive the missive, knowing that his brother resided there and also knowing he'd be able to see him after so long. Letters between them had been few and often formal much to Athos dismay.

He heard the exclamations of his comrades beside him and couldn’t help from adding his own. He could hear Porthos’ low growling and see d’Artagnan’s fidgeting beside him. 

“You will let this man go immediately.”

“I fail to see how that would benefit myself and my men?” taunted the leader. “You are the current Captain of this regiment are you not? Aramis was the most convenient way to get you here.”

Athos settled his hands on the belt at his waist and sighed. He glanced at his bound brother, whose head was pulled back at an angle that Athos was sure would snap his neck in half at any given moment. He looked bruised and beaten but oddly was a sight for sore eyes to Athos. The man was breathing heavily and Athos was more than a little worried that he was hurt far worse than they could see. He knew that the Gascon would be itching to rip the dagger at Aramis throat from his captors’ hands and sever their throats and he knew for a fact that Porthos was about two seconds from exploding. 

“And how do you figure that?” he finally asked.

The leader smirked and walked casually over to the monk.

“Well for one he is one of yours, one of the fabled Inseparables,” The leader smiled at d’Artagnan’s surprised face. “Oh yes, we’ve heard of you three.” He motioned for the dagger to be removed and gently caressed Aramis’ exposed neck.

“I haven’t seen this man in several years, what makes you think that he would be any more valuable to me now than all those years ago? He is no longer a Musketeer, sent here by my hand. We've not spoken since so what he does, does not concern us.” It really hurt Athos to say these things about his brother and he could see Aramis flinch slightly, but finding out this man’s true motives had to come first. They had a monastery of monks to save, not just one. 

“No, I know this one… we go way back. He’s alive for now only for your cooperation and then later? Well, that’s between us two.” The man grasped Aramis’ neck in what looked like a tight grip and hauled him roughly to his feet. His two cronies that had been guarding him grasped his shoulders to support the monk when it was obvious standing on his own wasn’t going to be an option.

D’Artagnan started forward as if to grab Aramis from them but was stopped by Athos’ firm grip on the base of his neck.

“Well now that we’ve had this enlightening reunion we can continue, you will be allowed to remove all of the Monks in the monastery, excluding this one obviously,” he said still holding Aramis’ neck, “And in return we will take the building as our own, you will renounce Douai, giving it to Spain as spoils of war. Oh and of course also leave with the same haste that you arrived.” 

“Not bloody likely!” Porthos snorted, the big brute was flexing his hands open and then closing them into fists. "What bloody fools do you take us for? We'll come back and kill you all in your sleep!" 

Athos closed his eyes, wincing at Porthos statement and of Aramis' barely discernible sharp intake of breath at the memories of twenty Musketeers attacked in their sleep. He glared at Porthos then, placing a hand on his shoulder as if to hold him back. “Porthos! You will settle." He continued to glare at his friend until he felt the man's shoulder drop slightly. 

"You will give us Aramis as well,” Athos stated evenly.

The leader’s smile suddenly evaporated “I thought I had made myself clear, HE, is off the table. He has served his purpose in getting you all here and now he and I have some unfinished business to take care of. You have until sundown to make your choice and either choice will still result in this one’s death, mind you.” Each word had been punctuated by a sharp jerk of his hand shaking Aramis and the squeezing of his neck until the man’s face was bright red and he was squeaking trying to draw air into his lungs.

“Stop that this instance!” Porthos growled.

The leader let go of Aramis’ neck and watched impassively as the monk's eyes rolled up and he passed out. He motioned for his men to remove the monk from the scene.

Athos was vibrating in anger as his brother was dragged back into the Monastery. “I see that we are at an impasse. We will consider your deal and return at sundown,” he conceded. 

“I thought you’d see reason,” the leader smiled gleefully and then he turned and disappeared within the Monastery doors.

Athos pivoted and walked away already turning his thoughts inward.

“You can’t be seriously considering going along with this?” D'Artagnan spoke up angrily stomping after his mentor.

Athos rounded on the youngest of their group angrily, "We do not have the advantage d'Artagnan! We are making a retreat and gathering time to come up with a plan. Have you learned nothing about plans of action in these years?”

D'Artagnan's low growling response caused Porthos to pause mid-stride, surprised at the Gascon's unusual reaction and Athos smiled slightly, "We will get him back, we will save the Monks and make a treaty with Douai kid, it's just going to take some careful planning." 

With that, Athos turned again and went walking towards the treeline in the near distance. Porthos grinned at their youngest and tossed his arm over the man's shoulders as they followed in Athos' wake.

 

\--------------------

Aramis was strung up in the chapel, his arms pulled high above his head by a rope that had been looped over one of the cross beams in the ceiling. He pondered for a moment on how they had gotten the rope up there, but just as quickly decided he didn't want to know. The remainder of his monk brothers were nowhere to be found, and he assumed that the big bad guy had instructed his goons to move them someplace else. 

They’d at least allowed his feet to fully rest on the ground, for which he was eternally grateful, but at the same time, his one knee was unable to carry any weight and his other leg was having trouble keeping him balanced. It probably also didn’t help that the chapel was rocking back and forth… or was that himself? His first order of business was getting out of these bonds, he could figure out his knee and how to walk after. The Spaniards had left him alone in the chapel and Aramis was no fool, he knew they’d be back shortly. He glanced upwards at his hands assessing his situation, going over scenarios in his head and finally settling on trying to dislocate his thumb. 

His four years here hadn’t been spent just praying, the brothers had encouraged him to learn. Books were brought to him constantly and Aramis was quite the adept healer now. In return, he had taught the monks how to escape situations out of their control, how to defend themselves and how to survive. 

He knew that if he could somehow get his thumb out of joint, he would be able to pull his hand loose and then the rope securing his other hand would loosen, freeing him. He took another moment and glanced at his hands, the circulation had been cut off and they no longer tingled. His biggest obstacle would actually be the fact that his feet were planted flat on the ground. He was able to maneuver his hand slightly so that a good portion of his weight would pull the thumb out of joint, and grabbed the rope leading to the crossbeam in his other hand. Aramis pulled himself up as much as he could with one hand and then let go, dropping and yanking the rope against his thumb. 

The ensuing agony was almost unbearable and Aramis shouted in pain.

The monk shook visibly at the pain assaulting him, he’d caught his one foot on the floor and jarred his knee and the darn thumb hadn’t even bothered to pop out of place. He stood there breathing heavily for a few moments, trying to gain some composure and also trying to convince himself to do it again. This time, he bent his legs so that he was hanging from his ropes and pulled himself up silently praying this would work. He counted to five, just to give himself a starting point and let go. 

“What are you!---” The guard entering the chapel shouted, cut off by Aramis’ pained cry. “GUARDS!!” 

Aramis’ thumb had finally popped out of joint and his hand promptly slipped right out of its bonds; however that left his other still bound wrist straining against the weight. Blinded by the sheer throbbing pain of his dislocated thumb and the jarring motion of his writhing, his shoulder decided to join in the fun and slid out of its home with a crack. Tears obscuring his vision Aramis set his feet down and whimpered pitifully as his knees refused to hold his weight. He hung there in abject misery barely registering the guards running into the chapel and cutting the rope still holding his useless arm. They grabbed him and forced him down to his knees, grabbing at his robes and neck to keep him upright and in place. 

“Tsk Tsk Aramis!” Tobias' brother chuckled, the man had crouched down before the monk and brushed his hair from his face and finally, grabbing his chin lifted his head so that Aramis had no choice but to look him in the eye. 

“That wasn’t quite the smartest thing you just did was it now?” The Spaniard let go of his chin and motioned for his men to lift the marksman. “Where's the fun in torturing someone when they do it so beautifully to themselves?” 

He pulled his arm back and barreled his fist into Aramis’ stomach. The monk coughed harshly, blood dribbling out the corner of his mouth. The punch to the gut had made it exceedingly hard to breathe and it was taking all his remaining energy to not let the darkness take him. He could hear his own harsh halting breaths and the thud of each subsequent blow to his abdomen and his sides. His struggle to remain conscious was all for not however as the big guy, angered by Aramis’ lack of reaction, aimed a swift kick to his already swollen knee popping it neatly from its joint. Aramis world went completely white for the second time that day and his last thought was of the hilariousness of three dislocated joints and how Porthos would never let him live this down. The white light intensified and he closed his eyes to oblivion.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

 

The birds were singing a glorious song, and the sunlight streaming through the stained glass chapel windows danced merrily across the pews. He could hear other sounds as well; the distant yelling of the Spaniards, the chopping of wood, and the whinnies of the horses and the scraping of stone against stone? huh...That’s puzzling!

He shuffled on the ground slightly trying to locate the source of the sound, biting back a groan as various aches and pains made themselves known. He quickly remembered his injuries, specifically the three dislocated joints and wondered how long he'd been unconscious. He was surprised to find he’d been left alone, unbound and strewn upon the chapel floor like an afterthought. They had obviously determined he was no longer a threat and Aramis thought wryly,  _ they weren’t entirely wrong _ . He was startled out of his musings a moment later as soft gentle hands gripped his good shoulder, and a face appeared in his line of vision.

"Brother Rene? Can you hear me? Rene?" The person asked.

It was one of the monks’ Brother Thomas if Aramis could remember correctly, who was slated to become head of the order soon. He tried to respond but could only croak out something indecipherable, the gag still firmly entrenched in his jaws causing only half of the confusion. Several more warm hands began the process of lifting him off the ground and Aramis squeaked in agony. They carried him to the far side of the chapel, behind the large free-standing cross to where there was a decidedly small hole in the stone floor.

He was gently manhandled through the hole and down into a series of chambers beneath the Monastery. Aramis was completely speechless as he glanced around, his jaw dropping slightly as he was gently laid down on a soft bed in the corner. All of the monasteries monks were gathered down here and after so long here he hadn’t known this place existed.

"Brother Rene!" Smiled Thomas as he removed the gag from his mouth. "We regret that it took us this long to get to you."

Aramis grinned broadly, wincing when it stretched his skin taut around his cracked lips.

"Easy, easy," Brother Thomas said. "Let's get you patched up a bit and then we can plan our next step."

Aramis nodded and pointed to his knee and then shoulder, "These are out of joint; you'll need to set them. Replace that gag as well, it's going to hurt and I don't want to give away our location.”

The Monks gently cleaned the blood from the side of his head, taking care not to aggravate the head wound further. He was given water to drink and then a goblet of wine that Aramis was sure was taken from the offertory. Brother Thomas then held out the cloth gag and winced as he wrapped it around Aramis’ head, cutting off his ability to speak clearly.

“ Alright Rene, we are going to try and reset these joints.” Thomas grasped Aramis’ thumb firmly ignoring the low whine from the injured man before him and pulled until it slid back into place. Then Thomas moved to the shoulder.

Moments later, which had felt like a lifetime, Aramis was panting harshly through the gag. Fiery pain that had once rippled through his shoulder and thumb had dulled to an ache he could handle. His arm had been braced in a makeshift sling ripped from part of his robe and there wasn’t anything they could do to keep the thumb immobile. His knee was was massively swollen, though, and Brother Thomas couldn't even look at it without Aramis wincing in pain.

"This won't go back into place Brother," Thomas stated. He palpitated the area around Aramis’ knee and winced again when the man moaned and then growled.

Aramis shoved Thomas’s hands away and pulled the gag from his mouth. “Let's bind it tightly for support. We can test it after to see if it will hold weight.”

He grabbed several long strips of linen and tied them quickly together handing them to one of the monks. Aramis then shut his eyes and looked away clenching his fists against the pain. Once it was done he slid his leg off the cot and braced himself to stand. He grabbed the nearest Monks shoulder and pulled himself upwards. The world around him went completely silent and spots danced in his vision mocking him for his stupidity. His focus narrowed to a pinpoint and unholy pain ripped through his knee.

“ Oh...” He managed to mumble, barely noticing the Monks grasping at his robes frantically trying to lay him down and pleading for his response to their worried questions.

"I’m… n...not going to… to be able. You...h... have to leave me here…” He took a great gasping breath and continued shakily. “You must get to my friends, they are nearby and will get you all to safety. These guys are after the Monastery as a way to get into France undetected and they do not care for your lives. Somehow they knew I was here and are using me against the Musketeer regiment to obtain this place."

Brother Thomas just looked at Aramis warily, clearly not convinced that this wasn't foolishness on Aramis' part, as his fellow brother continued. "It's the only way, Thomas! When they spoke to Athos they said as much, you all were free to go provided Athos complied and he won't comply, he will try and find a way to get me out as well. You need to get out and give my friends the advantage.

Thomas nodded and motioned for the other monks to gather close. A few moments of furious whispering just out of Aramis' hearing range and they parted having come up with a plan... or at least Aramis hoped so.

"I will bring your friends to you Brother Rene, and once this is over you need to reevaluate why you are here." Thomas held his hand up stopping Aramis from speaking, "Your heart even now yearns for your friends, for the battles and the life you lived before. If you think that becoming a monk is the only way to serve our God then you are wrong and Father Michael would be sad to know that you hadn’t learned that in his teachings all these years."

Aramis dragged his hand down his face, trying to hide the tears pooling in his eyes. "You are far too wise Thomas, you’ll be a benevolent leader here. I will take what you said into consideration."

"See that you do," Thomas responded. He waved his hand to the monks and they silently left the room into what Aramis assumed was an intricate maze of rooms below the monastery.

 

\-----------------------

 

Athos was pacing back and forth in front of the small campfire d’Artagnan had assembled. Porthos and d’Artagnan were conversing quietly nearby. He knew that both Porthos and the whelp didn’t understand his motives for walking away. Porthos would have loved nothing more than storming the monastery to retrieve his friend, and d'Artagnan would be itching to defend his country. There wasn’t anything to be done at that moment. It was very clear to Athos that the leader of these idiots would have likely killed Aramis right in front of them, that’s why Athos had walked away.

It was a clever ploy to threaten the population of peaceful Monks to secure the lands bordering France, and one that would have succeeded in Spain’s infiltration into France had it not been for Aramis’ choice in retirement homes. Athos smiled to himself, the Spanish had no clue as to the resilience of Aramis, and he was sure even now Aramis was fighting against them with every fibre of his being. Something kept niggling at his mind, though, the leader had said something about Aramis knowing him. It had to have been before Athos had joined the regiment, though, for he had never seen this man before. He’d have to remember to ask Porthos, the man had been with the Musketeers longer than he had.

He'd missed Aramis, it had been hard let him go all those years ago. He remembered when they had ridden to the Monastery only days after Aramis had left them. They’d been sure their fellow Musketeer would drop everything to join them and they hadn't been disappointed. Aramis had rejoined them immediately and battled alongside them for many months; it wasn’t until Athos found him bent over a small child that had died in the crossfire that Athos finally understood. Aramis needed to be away from this death and sorrow, he'd been a soldier for too long… it was evident in the shimmering tears pooling out of his eyes, in his rigid muscles and silent sobs wracking his lithe frame. His very soul was exhausted. So Athos had ordered him away, ignoring the betrayal in Aramis’ eyes, ignoring the betrayal in all of their eyes.

It had taken ages and many letters to and from Aramis before Athos finally had gotten him to understand why he had to leave. He still wasn’t sure that Porthos had forgiven him, but d’Art had quickly gotten over it, busy with the hustle and bustle of war and his new bride.

“ So have you come up with a plan?” Asked Porthos gruffly, pulling Athos out of his inner monologue.

Athos sighed, “I don’t see that--” He was interrupted by their not so young Gascon suddenly standing and staring off into the nearby trees.

“ Athos! Porthos! do you see something over there?” d’Artagnan was pointing at several moving objects slinking through the trees.

“ oh... It's the monks!” exclaimed Porthos, walking up to stand beside d'Artagnan. “How?”

The three men stood abreast watching with mixed puzzlement and amazement at the large group of monks standing before them. One of them stepped forward speaking quietly but firmly.

“ I am Brother Thomas, I’ve come to escort you three into the Monastery where brother Rene awaits. He is badly injured and is unable to walk.”

Porthos clenched his fists in rage, “What have they done to him?”

“ He had three dislocated joints, two of which we were able to repair, the third which is his knee, is too swollen to put back into place.”

Athos’ jaw dropped at the admission of the Monk, d’Artagnan winced murmuring something pained under his breath and Porthos laughed. A full-bodied laugh. “That’s my ‘Mis,” he chuckled. “Three dislocated joints! He doesn’t do anything half measured does he?”

Brother Thomas smiled slightly, shaking his head. “He has other injuries as well, but nothing cracked or broken that I could see. Rene is underground in our catacombs, safe for now, but as soon as those men figure out he’s missing they will move heaven and earth to find him.”

“ Do you know how they knew Aramis was at this monastery?” d'Artagnan asked.

Brother Thomas just shook his head, “I have no clue how, and if Rene knew he didn't say anything.”

“ Porthos?” Asked Athos. “Do you know what their leader meant by revenge on Aramis for something that happened between them?”

“ I’ve no clue what he meant! I was wondering the same thing myself.”

Athos nodded understandingly and turned to face his soldiers, “D’Artagnan, escort these Monks to the nearest town. Secure a place for them to stay and acquire the services of a healer, once you have done this get word to the Minister. Porthos and I will get Aramis out and meet you in the village. It would be best to have reinforcements to deal with these men rather than attempting to remove them ourselves.”

D’Artagnan nodded and turned to the monks, guiding them back into the trees.

“ I should tell you,” started Thomas, “Father Michael, God rest his soul, never allowed Brother Rene to take his final vows. He would never disclose to us the nature of Rene’s reason to be here, only that his soul was fragile and we needed to help him ask forgiveness from God. He’s been a Godsend here and can often be found out in the near villages tending to the ill of health. He’s become a physician, we’ve seen to his education.”

“ Aramis is a healer?!” Athos asked, shocked.

“ The best we’ve seen in a long time gentlemen, it will be a sad day when he is gone from here,” replied Brother Thomas.

“ Athos?” Porthos asked quietly, “Do you think he’ll come home when all this is said and done?” He fiddled with his broadsword attempting to sheath it, trying to hide the worry in his face.

“ I don’t know, Porthos,” Athos sighed, running his hand down his face. “I really don’t know.”

Brother Thomas walked up to Athos then and laid his hand on the man’s shoulder. “He’s at peace here now. But it’s time for him to regain the other parts of his life he lost, I am sure that if you ask it of him he will return to you.”

“ Yes, but would it be right of us to ask him to give up the peace he’s fought so hard to earn all these years Brother?”

“ As his family you have every right to ask it of him, whether or not he grants you an answer is up to him. In other words, you will never know what’s in his heart if you do not ask him.” Replied Thomas. “Now let us make haste, the place we left him is safe for now but certainly not a fortress to keep those men out if they go looking for him.”

Porthos growled at the thought of Aramis in more trouble and grabbed Athos by the arm pulling his Captain along after Thomas.

  
  
  


 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter I struggled with. I put Aramis in the catacombs and I couldn't figure out how I was getting him out. Tessinciucy and I went through all sorts of scenarios and in the end I am pretty sure I chose none of them haha. She kept encouraging me to keep trying and that it would come to me... and it did! obviously since you all will be reading it.
> 
> I hope you like it...
> 
> Also I am really glad everyone seems to like Thomas :) I didn't realize until after I wrote the whole thing that Thomas was the name of Athos' brother... oops.

Aramis sighed, he was alone in the catacombs and stuck down here until someone came to get him. He never could sit still for long, he was always the fidgeter, the mover, the nervous habit amongst his Inseparables. They’d always and forever be finding him things to do to distract him and it was only when they’d leave him to his own devices that trouble followed; which was why joining the Monastery as a Monk was irony in itself.

Father Michael and the brothers welcomed Aramis with open arms, and Aramis quickly learned to trust the man. He’d confessed to Father Michael of his treasonous deeds and had been assured forgiveness in the eyes of God, but that great sacrifices would need to be made on Aramis’ part to ensure that forgiveness. He taught Aramis patience and how to slow down, and most importantly he helped Aramis understand why Athos had pushed him away.

Now, however, knowing his brothers were outside these walls, contemplating a deal with the devil all that nervous energy Aramis had learned to let go through prayer and patience was rearing his ugly head. He had managed to sit up again and his uninjured leg was bouncing up and down on the ground. His good hand had crept into his unruly mane and was tugging at the curls with increasing intensity.

He knew he needed to get to his room here at the Monastery as that was where he kept his weapons and his clothing. The monks robes he was wearing weren’t going hold up in the upcoming confrontations, in fact, it was already ripped and torn in places that probably should be kept hidden from prying eyes. He looked down at the robe, considering it for a moment and remembering he had put on his small clothes underneath. Those would be much easier to move around in and made the quick decision to remove the tattered robe.

It was a painstakingly slow process and when he was done he was breathing heavily as pain lanced through every fiber of his being. He took another large gulp of the wine that the brothers had supplied earlier and braced himself on the bed. He needed to get this part over with before he put much thought into it and agonizingly pulled his injured knee over the side of the bed. He paused there giving himself a moment and glanced around the room he was hiding out in. It was a storage room containing several barrels which Aramis assumed held the Monastery’s wine, there were candelabras and candles to go with them. There was a tall shelf along one wall that contained many cubby holes with rolled up pieces of parchment paper and several other items of in-consequence. Aramis was puzzled as to why there was a random bed in this room though and he wondered if it had once been occupied by someone else hiding out here.

He grabbed the nearest candelabra dragging it towards himself and grasping it firmly he used his good leg to push himself upwards using the long pole as support. You can do this! he thought, he managed to get himself into a full standing position and sighed happily leaning his forehead against the cool metal of the candle pole. The pain was racing up and down his leg and even his shoulder had joined the pain brigade, also his head felt like it was going to explode.

For the second time that day, Aramis heard the scraping of stone against stone and he looked around frantically trying to locate the source, afraid that the Spaniards had found him down here. He’d hoped that his hiding down here would go undiscovered a bit longer. He wanted to ensure that his fellow monks could get far enough away from the Monastery to be considered too inconvenient for them to retrieve.

He startled visibly nearly knocking himself to the ground when two ice blue eyes and a mop of the blondest hair he’d ever seen peered around the corner of the room’s entrance. Aramis yelped none too quietly and he let go of the candle pole attempting to put some distance between him and the unknown young lady. Unfortunately, the candelabra was the only thing helping hold him upwards and he flailed his arms in near panic and hit the back of the bed with his calves.

"No no! Monsieur,” She cried out, racing towards the monk and grabbing his elbow to steady him. “I’m not one of them! I am merely a kitchen worker, I promise.”

Aramis didn’t exactly trust her, but he sighed in relief of not falling back down to where he would not be getting up from in the near future. “Pleased to make your acquaintance Mademoiselle. May I ask how you came to find me down here?”

She looked down at her feet suddenly and nervously fiddled with her apron. “I’ve burnt the stew,” she timidly said.

Aramis laughed humour dancing in his eyes, “You burnt the stew and chose to hide? how did you find your way down here?”

She looked up at him sharply trying to determine if he was mocking her with his laugh, but seemed to find no judgement and settled into his side wrapping an arm around his waist helping support his weight, “Quite by accident actually, I threw the ladle and it landed under the counter. I moved one of the cabinets hoping to retrieve it so that I didn’t catch more trouble for losing a cooking instrument, and found a small passage in the back.”

“This Monastery is full of surprises Mademoiselle? I am called Rene here,” He responded.

“And outside these walls?” She asked. “I am called Bernadette in this place”

“Outside these walls I am a completely different person, one that should remain a mystery and one you shouldn’t meet,” He said. “Again, pleased to meet your acquaintance, Mademoiselle Bernadette”

“And I, yours Monsieur Rene,” She responded dipping her head in an informal curtsey.

“Can you show me the way you came in Bernadette?” Aramis asked after a moment. “I must get out of this basement, it is not safe.”

It was as though a light had been turned on in the girl eyes and she suddenly stood up straighter and stiffened. “ You are the escaped prisoner!” She gasped. “They are very angry with you. They killed two of the guards that were supposed to be watching you.”

Aramis smiled grimly and nodded, “I need to know that I can trust you, Bernadette, if you intend to turn me in then I will take measures to ensure that you will not reach them to reveal my position.”

“This will get me killed for sure,” She responded panic lacing her voice “The Monks are missing as well, Carlos is going to rip apart this Monastery and if he sees me with you, my life is forfeit!”

Aramis’ face fell and he squeezed her shoulder with his good hand and implored her to look at him. “Bernadette I will do all that I can to ensure that does not happen, but I need out of here first. I’ve friends on the outside who will come with backup to recover the monastery and I need to be prepared to meet with them. I would appreciate your help, but understand if you must leave and hope that should you choose that route you would remain silent about this meeting and my whereabouts.” They were still awkwardly hanging off of each other though it had shifted to Aramis supporting her weight and he was beginning to tremble with the exertion. “And who is Carlos?”

“ My employer,” She responded looking up at him puzzled, “He said he knew you?”

Aramis merely nodded thoughtfully, realizing that Tobias’ brother now had a name and he wished that when the Captain had forced him to visit his dead brethren’s families to relay the news, that he had paid more attention. Instead, he had been selfish and self-absorbed in his own grief and had missed out on offering condolences. Maybe his time at the monastery wasn’t entirely complete he thought to himself as he realized he may have more to atone for than he had previously realized. Shaking the thoughts away, he focused once more on Bernadette who was still staring at him puzzlingly.

“Are you with me?” He asked and she nodded slowly. Her fingers tightened around his waist and she took on a large chunk of his weight as they began inching towards Bernadette’s hidden entrance into the catacombs.

 

\------------------------

 

Porthos was going to kill Aramis, he was currently plotting the man’s death by several different methods trying to determine which would offer him the most satisfaction. “What about if I strangle him until just before he fully stops breathing, let him recover and then do it all over again?” He asked no one in particular. Of course, since Athos and Brother Thomas were with him and he was speaking aloud he received two very angry glares from them. “What?! he was told to stay in one place and he can’t even follow simple instructions, he’s been gone 4 years and he’s learned nothing.”

“Porthos, please. Now is not the time.” Athos pleaded. They were standing in the now empty room of the catacombs where the monks had left Aramis. It had been fairly easy to breach the walls of the Monastery and their way to the room where the Monks had left Aramis had so far gone unchallenged. Athos, of course, had been pleased because it meant that it was unlikely that his captors had found their friend. Athos could see the remnants of the supplies used to patch Aramis up and it made his stomach roil at the sheer amount of bandages he saw. He glanced at Porthos worryingly, noting that the larger Musketeer had the same concern for their friend.

Brother Thomas caught the worried exchange between the two Musketeers and put a hand on each of their shoulders. “Superficial wounds on his arms and head, my friends. They required no stitching and a few of the longer ones were easily bandaged. I admit myself quite surprised and more than a bit curious as to how he got out of here, however.” The Monk bent and picked up a small puddle of black silk from the ground beside the bed and smiled holding it towards Captain. “These are his robes.”

Porthos sighed in partial relief and snatched the robe from Athos' waiting hand. He held it up and growled softly seeing how blood stained and torn it was. “Still the idiot was told not to go anywhere and if you say his knee was dislocated he shouldn’t have been able to move.”

“Be that as it may,” Said Athos. “Our wayward friend is no longer in this specific room and we have more pressing matters to attend to, one of which is retaking this Monastery. It will be a bit before d’Artagnan can make his way back here, so I suggest we come up with some plans on how to achieve that.”

Athos watched as Brother Thomas quickly walked to the shelf with the cubbies and began rifling through the rolled up pieces of parchment paper. He glanced over to the Porthos who was suddenly standing quite rigid next to him, clenching Aramis’ robes in his fists.

“Athos I am not comfortable with just leaving Aramis to his own devices down here. He’s going to get himself into trouble again I know it.” Porthos whispered furiously. “I want to go looking for him.”

“What do you think he’s been up to for these past four years?” Athos replied, slightly distracted by what Thomas was doing. “He’s been on his own without us to protect him for long enough, that I am sure the man can take care of himself!” As Athos was speaking, he could see the anger light up in Porthos' eyes and his pleading face turn stony and angry.

Porthos growled threateningly at Athos and moved into the Captain’s personal space, foreheads nearly touching. “He wouldn’t be on his own if you hadn’t of sent him away from us. We could have helped him come to terms with that child's death, but you never gave any one of us the chance. Now if you'll excuse me I will do a quick search of the nearest rooms for Aramis and don’t try and stop me!” He huffed and turned swiftly from his commanding officer.

Athos grabbed Porthos’ arm swiftly and pulled him back slightly. “You have no idea how hard it was to force him to leave and you need to know that I have not forgiven myself for the distance it has put between us. But I will not apologize for the actual act of sending him away.” He said with no little amount of anger and anguish in his voice, “And YOU would do well to not try my patience as your Captain. Go and scout the rooms directly connected but do not Porthos, I repeat, do not go any further.”

Porthos stiffened at Athos’ words and paused for a moment taking in what his comrade had said and finally, shoulders slumping he nodded in agreement. He shook his arm loose from Athos’ grip and stared at the man a moment longer before leaving the room in search for their sharpshooter.

“Well, that escalated far quicker than I had imagined it would.” Athos sighed, speaking to no one in particular.

“Ah ha!” Brother Thomas cried suddenly, startling Athos who was still staring at the doorway where Porthos had left. “I found the Monastery’s building plans!” He brought them over and laid them out on a nearby table. Athos followed a short moment later with a couple of candles in his hands that he placed on the table to keep the map flat.

“There are entrances here, here, here and here. Oh and here.” Thomas said, rapidly pointing to five access points on the plans. “The last two are completely secret to anyone who does not have this map in their possession. The first two are well used by servants, worshippers and, of course, the monks in this Monastery. The other one is the doors leading to the chapel, but that is where they were keeping Rene so it will be the last place we would want to go.”

“Or the best, because if you’ve removed Aramis from that room they will assume he won’t go back to the place he was held captive.” Athos responded and he could see Brother Thomas think about it for a moment before nodding in agreement. “How about access to the upper levels from down here? are those on the building plans?.”

“Ahh yes, plenty, actually. More than I plan on showing you. A man has to keep some secrets safe.” Thomas replied smiling.

 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

 

  
D’Artagnan was racing back towards the Monastery as quickly as he could coax the horses to gallop. He was bringing back two of the Monks dressed in plainclothes who’d refused to remain behind in the small village.

It had taken ages to get the large group of Monks through the forest and into the village. Several of them were of an advanced age and it had taken plenty of support from the younger brothers to help their elders over logs and roots and other varying debris. When they had finally broken free of the dense foliage, d’Artagnan had almost cried out in relief when he saw that they were actually at the edge of a medium sized village. He and one of the youngest of the monk brothers had raced into the village searching for the local law keeper for aide.

After ensuring the most of the monks a safe sanctuary, d’Artagnan requested to see the Comte of the town and a messenger to deliver word to Paris of the siege at the Douai Monastery. Several of the town’s young men offered to take the message and d’Artagnan quickly instructed the boys to find a man by the name of Treville, the Minister for War. He then handed him the letter that he and hastily written and sealed with the Musketeer emblem. The Comte, naturally, refused to meet with the young Musketeer and if d’Artagnan was honest he hadn’t expected the audience. He was fairly confident that when the Minister rode into town to offer a treaty of peace to the province that the Duke of the lands and his many comte’s would make their appearance.

He’d been ready to turn and run back the way he had come towards the Monastery when Henri and Gabriel, two middle-aged Monks, had approached d’Artagnan and requested that they go along with him to help. They professed great concern for both Brother Thomas and Brother Rene, the latter of whom they had come to respect greatly and much to the Gascon's own surprise he agreed to them joining him. He didn't want them to be forced to fight, but they had been quite adamant that they would be valuable assets to bring along not just for able bodies to help in the retaking of the Monastery, but also to get d'Artagnan and his brothers in and around undetected. The two monks had quickly changed out of their robes and had put on more practical plain clothes in case someone intercepted them on their way back and to hide them from the Spaniards who would undoubtedly be looking for the rest of the Monks.

And here they were, riding on borrowed horses, galloping as fast as they could back to the Monastery.

D'Artagnan missed his friend deeply, he and Aramis wrote each other often, speaking of their lives and friends met. Every once in awhile the letters from Aramis were slightly longer containing a postscript written in Spanish nearly longer than the main letter. D'Artagnan would then make haste to the palace with excuses to retrieve his bride and pass the message along to Constance. D'Artagnan knew that the Queen and Aramis kept in touch and it had been Constance that had facilitated the system of exchanging the greetings. D'Artagnan had been seethingly angry at his wife when he had first found out what she was doing, but one quick reprimand from the Queen herself had him quickly changing his tune. He had come to admire the love of two people who could never act upon it. He had met in person once with Aramis, Constance and their new baby in tow and they had all agreed not to speak of this to anyone. Athos and Porthos didn’t even know how often Aramis wrote to d’Artagnan postscript or no, and he intended to take that secret with him to the grave. It was the least he could do after the Queen’s kindness in a rather large stipend for his and Constance’s only child, ensuring a bright and educated future for her.

“How are we getting into the Monastery,” He asked aloud to Henri and Gabriel, pulling himself out of his thoughts as he could see the large building looming in the distance. It gave him chills to think that only earlier this morning they had come riding here to secure a peaceful treaty and visit an old friend. An old friend who was now very much in danger. If Aramis was killed, d’Artagnan would be loath to explain to his sweet little girl that her favourite uncle was dead. D’Artagnan moaned again at the sudden realization that he’d also have to tell the Queen.

It was Gabriel who spoke, shouting over the beating of the horses hooves. “We should be able to get in through the chapel doors. They are meant for worshippers wishing to come and attend mass or pray for loved ones.”

“They are sure to be guarding every entrance and exit. They will kill us before we step more than a foot over the threshold. In any case, I do not want to stage a battle in the middle of the chapel where you pray for forgiveness.” Responded the Musketeer.

“The kitchens then?” Spoke up Henri. “They lead straight off into the personal lodgings of the Monks. We could guide you to Brother Rene’s room so that you can gather his weapons, we know he defies the Monasteries rules and stores them where he sleeps.”

“And what if they have occupied those rooms for their men?” Asked d’Artagnan. “They are expecting Athos at sundown, maybe our best choice would be to just walk up to the main doors and demand an audience. Maybe we can distract them from Athos long enough for him to save Aramis.”

The Monks barely took a second to consider the idea before they were nodding and spurring their horses faster. D’Artagnan shook his head worryingly, it was an extremely weak plan, but it had a starting point and he was okay with that.

  
  


\------------------

  
  


When Bernadette had said she had pulled a cabinet away from the wall and saw a hole behind it Aramis hadn’t imagined it would be quite this large. He thought it would be this tiny thing he’d have to somehow crawl through. Instead, it was a large doorway sized opening hidden behind a massive wardrobe that swung outwards into the room they were currently in. He was leaning against the wall breathing heavily from the exertion of hobbling through the passageways in the catacombs. Every nerve ending was on fire and Aramis felt as though hot pokers were being jabbed into his knee with every step. His head was also pounding and he was finding it increasingly hard to keep his eyes open more than a sliver due to the brightness of the single lantern they were carrying. That wasn’t a good thing Aramis mused to himself, he was over exerting himself and the symptoms of his earlier concussion were making themselves known.

“This is slightly larger than I was expecting it to be,” Aramis mumbled, glancing at the small woman beside him. “How--” He began to ask, but he was silenced by a rather dark glare aimed in his direction.

“I’ve literally just dragged you through goodness knows how many rooms, and am about to support you up a flight of stairs, and you are going to ask me how I moved a simple cabinet?” She whispered at him furiously. She set the lantern down on the floor at the base of the stairs and glanced up into the darkened staircase.

Aramis held up two hands as if to placate her. “No no, despite what my friend once said to me I am not quite that suicidal, as to ask that question.”

“Then what were you going to ask?” She had turned around and was staring at him angrily, with her hands on her hips and foot lightly tapping the floor.

Aramis’ face lost all remaining colour and he stuttered. “uh n..nothing my dear, shall we get on with this?” He motioned with his good hand for her to come to him so that he could have her support once more. “To the kitchens! and you must show me this burnt stew.”

“I hardly think my horrific cooking skills are anything to be made fun of, and this isn’t just a random adventure Rene, we need to get out of here before Carlos finds you. And I need to not be near you or I’ll die along with you.”

“You have such faith in our escape,” Aramis responded, smiling.

“And you Monsieur are a fool!”

Aramis laughed wholeheartedly, “My lady I would gladly accept that description!” He smiled when she scowled at him and gestured impatiently towards the staircase. He looked where she was pointing too and frowned, there were so many steps. “I don’t think I can do this, it’s suddenly feeling insurmountable to me.”

Bernadette grasped at his waist and dragged him upwards and towards the stairs. “It's only as insurmountable as you make it be.”

Aramis just grunted and moaned as she jarred his knee pulling him up the first step.

“You could, however, support some of your weight Rene. I’m strong, but not all powerful.”

They were halfway up the stairs when Aramis just couldn’t continue anymore. His emotions had gotten the better of him and he pushed Bernadette away from his embrace and sat down with a muffled thud and an angry moan. A fine sheen of sweat had him shivering in the chill from the catacombs. His eyes were burning as an army of little men had burrowed their way into his brain and were constructing the most heinous of torture devices. He felt incredibly nauseated and he could barely breathe for fear of coughing and retching.

“This has turned out to be the worst day ever,” He whispered haltingly between breaths. “And I feel as though it's only going to get worse”

“It’s going to get worse if you don’t get up” Bernadette pointed out.

Aramis smiled slightly but that was about all he could manage, he laid his head on the stone wall beside him and took a deep breath as if he was about to speak. The stone felt cool against his skin and he pushed his cheek a little farther into the wall. He knew his temperature was rising and he just wanted to lay down and sleep the rest of the year away. He kept hearing strange noises and seeing flashes of light where there shouldn’t be anything but dark and wondered if his rising fever was playing tricks with his mind. He was still warring with the thought of leaving here and rejoining the Musketeers and he could really use a solid conversation with God right about now. He just really was having a bad go of it.

He felt Bernadette yank on his arm and he pushed himself upwards using the wall as a brace and held out his hand once more for Bernadette’s. “Fine,” He said tiredly, as she attached herself to his waist. “Let's do this.”

“Hey, you were the one who wanted to go back upstairs and into enemy territory.”

“Why are you helping me anyways?” He mumbled, blinking heavily in exhaustion.

She didn’t answer him.

When they finally hit the top step she put a finger to her lips and indicated that he should be silent. He watched her lean her ear against the back of what Aramis assumed to be the cabinet that she had tossed the ladle under. He could see a faint glow from the kitchens bathing the top step of their hiding place. He frowned suddenly trying to remember if he had even seen a ladle lying around as they were climbing up the steps.

“I can’t hear anything,” She said. “I think the coast is clear!”

“Had you picked up the ladle when you came down this passageway before finding me?” Aramis asked, oblivious to what she had just said. “I don’t remember seeing it.”

She ignored him and pushed slightly on the back of the cabinet slowly swinging it outwards into the kitchen. Then she grabbed back onto the monk’s waist and pulled him into the warmth of the Monastery’s kitchens.

The kitchen was deserted and eerily quiet, the Monastery itself was always shrouded in a peaceful and comforting quiet, but never the kitchens. They were always abuzz with food cooking, vegetables being chopped and fires crackling as water-boiled in kettles hung above them. And the smells of fresh baked bread and salted meat always gave Aramis a sense of calm, in fact, Brother Thomas was always rushing into the kitchens and ushering Aramis out, complaining that he was disrupting the kitchen staff. He smiled wryly, despite disrupting the kitchen staff he always managed to leave with some tidbit or morsel from the head-cook with a stern reprimand on not attempting to beguile her again. And of course, he would just sidle up again the next day much to her chagrin.

Something was bothering him, though, something tickled at the back of his mind, of something important and yet forgotten. “Bernadette…” He didn’t get any further, he yelped in pain as his dislocated knee was jarred when his foot slammed into the hearth of the fireplace.

“Sorry, sorry…” She replied apologetically. “Here, lean on this for a moment.” She helped the monk to a small window ledge in the kitchen and stood to the side trying to regain her breath. She looked exhausted and Aramis felt horrible for asking her to endure so much during their trip up from the catacombs. He glanced outside and was surprised to see the light of the day was mostly gone, the setting sun had left the sky a dazzling orange and the clouds were tinted pink. It wouldn’t be long now before Athos would be expected at the Monastery’s main doors to finalize the deal with Carlos. Aramis hoped the Monks were long gone and hopefully someplace safe. Carlos had to have noticed Aramis’ absence in the chapel by now and a prolonged stay in these kitchens was just asking to be discovered. Aramis couldn’t force his sluggish mind to catch up with the situation, however.

He watched the young lady move towards the knife blocks, grabbing a couple of rather frighteningly long ones and then move to where the remainder of the cooking instruments were hung along the wall. Aramis saw her carefully select a rather large meat tenderizer off the wall, and by rather large he meant more of a mallet than a meat tenderizer. He was puzzled as to why the Monastery needed something that large for cooking. She was running her hands over the remainder of the cooking utensils contemplating which others to grab when a flash of metal caught his eye. The ladle was perfectly hanging on the wall untouched… He snapped his head to his right looking towards the fireplace and saw no kettle… no remains of a stew… no smell of burnt stew. He slowly turned his head back towards Bernadette intending to ask her what was going on when he caught another flash of metal. The ladle crashed into the side of his head with surprising force and Aramis stumbled to the side trying to grasp onto something to prevent him from falling. He managed to catch the edge of the butcher block table in the middle of the room, gasping as he jarred his knee and frantically glanced around trying to find his attacker, only narrowly missing another glancing blow to his head by the flying ladle.

“Bernadette!” He cried, “Stop! what?...” His pleading was cut off as something hit him between the shoulder blades from behind and he went crashing to the ground with a thud followed by the ‘meat tenderizer’ clattering beside him. He lay on the ground unmoving as black tendrils obscured his vision, wondering if awareness would fade when a voice he had hoped to never hear again chilled his blood.

“A ladle my love? you are a crafty little wench aren’t you?”

 

_Carlos._


	6. Chapter 6

Aramis opened his eyes to a pitch black room, he was shivering so hard his teeth were rattling. He was soaking wet from head to toe, which of course, he found extremely strange and he frowned trying to force his fuzzy mind to understand. He was sitting in a chair with his ankles bound to the legs and his arms bound together behind him, there also seemed to be a rather tight coil of rope around his chest and abdomen securing him to the back of the chair. Aramis figured it was overkill securing him so tight as there was no chance of him going anywhere with his mind as befuddled as it was.

He sighed and lifted his head slightly trying to make out anything in the dark. It was fully night time in Douai and there was no moon at this point in the month to help illuminate the world. He figured from the smell of the space that he was somewhere in the Monastery’s library and the echoing of some random small sounds seemed to confirm that. He could sense someone was in the room with him, glaring in his direction and breathing with what felt like faint excitement and it made him feel uneasy.

Suddenly a match struck in front of him and the monk blinked, startled as the room was softly lit by several candles placed around the room. He was so busy watching as each candle lit up that he failed to notice the hand that flew through the air and slammed into the side of his face snapping his head sideways. He yelped and struggled in his bonds and spit the blood from his mouth that had welled up from the crack in his lip reopening. He also noticed a rather large bucket off to the side and he realized that it had once been filled with the water that Aramis was currently drenched in. These people were so original in their torture techniques he thought to himself, he was so tired of this.

“Where are the Monks, scum?” Raged Carlos. He moved to stand in front of Aramis, face mere inches away. “I know they helped you escape, where are they?”

“I have no clue what you are talking about,” Aramis replied smirking. “You need to work on your name calling,” He added without thought.

“Where...did...they...go,” Carlos demanded again, punctuating each word as though the monk couldn’t understand simple french.

“I had assumed you, the man in charge, would be in control of this little project of yours,” Aramis commented dryly, “Imagine my lack of surprise that you would fail at this just like every other person attempting to do evil in this world.”

Carlos growled menacingly and let his fist fly into Aramis’ previously dislocated shoulder once...twice and then a third time. The agony made the Aramis scream raggedly and strain against his bonds, chafing his skin underneath.

“I have had quite enough out of you to last a lifetime! If you won’t answer my questions you can just sit there and listen to me.” Carlos waved to someone behind him and for the millionth time that day a strip of cloth was wrapped around his mouth and secured behind his head. It took everything Aramis had in him not to roll his eyes.

Carlos walked away from Aramis and began to bark orders to his men and they were frantically racing around the room trying to comply with the orders. During the chaos Aramis saw someone standing off in the corner shrouded in darkness, he squinted trying to focus and realization suddenly bloomed as a stray white blond curl fell from her shoulder. He looked upwards to her eyes and caught her gazing back at him slightly afraid, but mostly stony. She waved her hand slightly, grinning a bit too madly for Aramis’ liking and stepped forward dangling the ladle in her other hand back and forth. He remembered then that she was the one that attacked him with that infernal object and he swore to himself that he’d never touch one of the damned things again. She didn’t move any closer to him though because Carlos suddenly turned around towards his captive and smiled evilly.

“Now my little half Spanish bastard, since my plans have currently been foiled by you and your infernal Musketeers, I’ll take my revenge on you now. I’m saddened that I do not have more time to savor this, but beggars can’t be choosers and I must take what I can now.”

He was holding one of the kitchen knives from earlier and slapping it against the palm of his hand as he walked towards his captive. Aramis didn’t like the direction this day had turned.

 

\---------------------

 

Porthos knew he was going to catch hell from Athos as he wandered further into the catacombs underneath the Monastery. He had picked up a barely-visible trail, and he would not forgive himself if he didn’t follow it and it ended with Aramis dead. So he wandered, picking up clues along the way. He’d figured someone else had come down here to help Aramis because he could see a second set of footprints. Said person was helping Aramis along, Porthos could see the long drag mark of a foot that could put no weight on it. Not for the first time this evening did Porthos curse Aramis’ stupidity in moving from a safe place and into the unknown, but he knew his brother would need to do everything he could to ensure the safety of others before himself.

Porthos had been the one who understood the most as to why Aramis had to leave the Musketeers, but had been the most unaccepting of the actual act. He had raged hurling slurs and foul things at the Captain to try and make him understand the mistake he was making in sending his best friend away. He’d been unequivocally stricken when Aramis had defended Athos and asked Porthos to step aside and allow him to seek out his vocation. He could still feel Aramis’ warm hand pressed firm to his chest covering his heart, offering silent support and trying to convey how sorry he was for abandoning them to war. Porthos also hadn’t forgotten the deathly glare Aramis aimed at Athos as he mounted his horse and prepared to depart. He remembered d’Artagnan visibly wincing, and Athos taking a staggering step backward as if he’d been hit, as Aramis spurred his horse forward and rode off with a tip of his hat.

It wasn’t until Aramis was merely a blurry blob in the distance that Porthos realized he was crying and he unfurled his clenched fist to find a glittering gold necklace… Aramis’ crucifix. 

He remembered Athos crying out in anguish as he walked away pulling the whelp along with him, “Have I broken us?”

Unknown to the other three Inseparables, it was Porthos’ idea to approach the Queen in private and explain to her the reasons for Aramis’ departure, and to Porthos surprise she had been grateful. She had handed him a letter still sealed in Aramis’ handwriting and had asked him to burn the resignation letter of his commission. She had told the King, she explained, that they had need of an undercover Musketeer close to the borders and that it was to be long term. She had confided to Porthos, that the King had readily, even excitedly, accepted thinking she was finally renouncing all ties to her brother and Spain. And she had added, if it kept her one true love alive she would lie to the King many times over. It had settled something in Porthos’ heart then, for he understood just how strong their love was and he was ashamed to admit he had treated Aramis poorly when it had come to his secret… He’d visited Aramis once during the four years, never once revealing his secret and managed to repair some damage caused to their friendship.

“Bloody Hell!!” Porthos growled suddenly, he had slammed his foot into something. He glanced down to see a small lantern laying on its side, burnt out, and picking it up he smiled; it was his first real clue since he started this infernal rescue mission. Looking around he could see he was in a rather small room with a staircase to his left side and he could see a faint glow coming from the top of the stairs. Throwing caution to the wind he began his ascent, wondering what he would find at the top.

He was met with the back of what looked to be a wardrobe or cabinet. He felt around the back, looking for a latch of some sort, and was disappointed a minute later on finding nothing. He swore in frustration, slammed his palm flat to the back of the cabinet and leaned against the wall in anger. Movement out of the corner of his eye had him jumping backward slightly, startled as the cabinet swung forwards into the Monastery's kitchens.

"Well I'll be, and Aramis is always telling me to control my anger issues," He laughed.

He stepped into the kitchen and closed the cabinet behind him.

"Where are you ‘Mis?" he asked out loud to an empty room.

 

\--------------------------

 

He wasn’t sure what was worse… the slow, methodical and painful sliding of the blade into his shoulder, or the quick stabbing motion of the blades into the palms of his hands. Either way both hurt, terrifyingly so. His hands had been unbound from behind and laid on the arms of the chair he was currently tied to. He’d thought it was odd that they weren’t secured and considered attempting to escape as soon as their backs were turned. But then Bernadette had finally come forth from the shadows carrying two small paring knives and his forearms were gripped and held down by Carlos. Before he could even protest she had slammed the blade straight down into the palm of his hand piercing the wood of the chair handle underneath. The pain was sharp and unrelenting and blood welled up in a pool around the hilt. He’d been so shocked he hadn’t even registered the pain until several seconds after, instead watching each red drop of blood plummet to the ground. He was in such a shocked daze he wasn’t prepared for the second knife driving into his other palm. 

“It’s hard, isn’t it? Knowing that a single pull of your hand could free you of these blades… which hand would you choose to pull out Aramis? Which would you choose to damage irreparably?” Carlos had taunted. “The hand that holds your sword, or the hand that holds your pistol steady? He’d held a long bladed knife and pressed the tip lightly into Aramis’ forearms, drawing just enough blood to make the marksman squirm in pain. It had taken every little bit of Aramis’ skills as a sharpshooter to remain as steady as he could so as to not slice open his hands further. 

Dissatisfied with the monk’s lack of reaction, Carlos had then taken the long knife blade and pressed it to his shoulder. Which brought us to Aramis’ current predicament

He squeaked a bit as the knife slid bit by bit into his shoulder. He decided just in this very moment that this pain was worse, it was slow and cruel and kept Carlos’s face mere inches away from his own. He had no idea how long Carlos had been sliding the knife blade into his shoulder for, and he was feeling the slow crawling movements of it breaking him down. Aramis was bathed in a fine sheen of sweat, his eyes were clenched tightly shut, the stress of the pain was causing him to shake almost imperceptibly, and his teeth were grinding down on the gag in his mouth. 

It slid in more. Without wanting to look, Aramis figured the blade had to be halfway through his shoulder now. The anticipation was killing him and not for the first time did he wish to plead with the madman in front of him to just shove the damn thing in all the way. 

And then there was nothing, no movement. He opened his eyes, puzzled, staring straight into Carlos’ and panted breathlessly.

“Come on my little monk, scream for me.”

Aramis whimpered and turned his head to the side, only to look straight into Bernadette’s eyes. Much to Aramis’ chagrin she was grinning just as maniacally as Carlos.

“Aww, don’t you wish you could talk, René? Part of me feels a little bad for deceiving you in the catacombs. I honestly did happen upon you accidentally. Your little speech about not wanting me to know who you really were outside of these walls was admirable,” Bernadette taunted.

Aramis only grunted in return, eyes blazing in anger. 

“Oh my love,” She pleaded suddenly, “I know you wanted him silenced, but his voice is so melodic, can we please remove the gag?”

Carlos didn’t look at her, he was too focused on the knife in his captive’s shoulder. But he waved his free hand at Bernadette and, giggling excitedly, she removed the strip of cloth from the marksman’s mouth.

“Push the damn blade through already!” Aramis growled, the second the gag was removed.

Carlos glanced at Aramis with a calculating look that terrified the monk and pushed the blade in a bit further. “Had enough already, René? Can't handle the pain?” He pushed slightly one more time and the knife slid through the skin at the back of his shoulder. With one last wide grin, Carlos took his palm and slammed the hilt of the knife forcefully, shoving the remainder of the blade through his shoulder straight to the hilt.

Aramis screamed.

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter is short... but it made the most sense cutting it here... I figured you all would just want the short chapter now and then I could post the longer one tomorrow? yes?
> 
> I hope everyone is still enjoying this.

He was so light headed, he was sure he was floating. Aramis knew it was because of the blood still steadily dripping from his hands and now from his shoulder. He could feel the blood pour out of his wounds with every beat of his heart. None of the knives had been removed from his body and part of him was infinitely grateful, as removing them would increase the blood flow, and Aramis couldn’t afford to lose much more. His head was hanging down towards his chest and his sweaty hair framed his face, keeping his pained expression from being visible to his enemies.

Carlos was off to the side, conversing quietly with Bernadette and his lackeys, and from what Aramis could gather from half-heard sentences, things weren’t going well. This wasn’t exactly going to work in his favour he guessed, smiling ruefully when Carlos glanced his way as if he could read the man’s thoughts. An angry Carlos would take his issues out on Aramis. 

Was it too much to ask for this to be over?! And where in God’s name was Athos??

“René,” sneered Carlos, bringing Aramis' attention to him. “How are your wounds doing? I am afraid we have been remiss in checking them.” The man grabbed the hilts of the paring knives and ripped them from Aramis’ palms, laughing at the gagging sound the sharpshooter made. “I plan on letting you bleed out, in case you were wondering. Just like you let my brother bleed out in Savoy.”

Aramis’ hands were shaking and he brought them close to his chest as if to cradle them; he was trying very hard not to panic and wasn’t listening to Carlos speak. He looked down at his hands, turning them palms up and palms down and trying to curl them into fists. He yelped pathetically a moment later when they were grabbed and pulled towards Tobias’ brother.

“Are you listening to me, you worthless being?” Carlos pressed his thumbs into the wounds in Aramis' hands and watched as the marksman writhed in pain, trying to pull his hands back.

“Ss...stop,” Aramis managed to stammer out. “Just, for the love of God stop!” 

“No.”

“I wasn’t the one that killed your brother!” Aramis pleaded. “There was nothing I could do to save him, he was stabbed in the gut.”

Carlos growled and dropped the monk’s hands into his lap. He grabbed the hilt of the blade in Aramis' shoulder and twisted it. “Try again, Musketeer.”

“I couldn’t save them, they died in their sleep and I failed them,” Aramis whispered, crying out in anguish. 

Blood gushed from the wound in his shoulder, snaking down Aramis' arm, and he brought his blood-covered fingers up to Carlos’ wrist, gripping it tightly. With an angry shout, he yanked Carlos’s hand away from himself, tugging the knife from his shoulder. 

Shocked at Aramis' actions, Carlos dropped the blade to the floor with a clatter, shattering the tense silence that had reigned for but a few moments. Aramis watched as the Spaniard took a step backwards and motioned for Bernadette to stand behind his captive. He cleared his throat and rolled his shoulders as if to loosen the tension in them, and then smiled.

“That was unexpected, Aramis. You’ve shown that you have much strength even after I have tried to bleed it out. And your admission of guilt in letting my brother die by your own weaknesses was a balm to my soul. But I still require closure, and I only will achieve that by your death. 

“Go to hell, Carlos,” replied Aramis shakily.

The Spaniard only laughed, “I am already there Musketeer, and I intend for you to join me.”

 

\-------------

 

Sometimes, being one-fourth of the fabled ‘Inseparables’ was a wonderful thing. Other times, like now, for instance, it gave him headaches and made him question his own sanity for choosing to deal with three idiots. One of them invited trouble wherever he went, and whether or not he was cognizant of that fact, Athos had long ago decided he didn’t want to know. The other one was a bull-headed bastard who needed to learn to follow orders. Athos was, of course, speaking of the largest of their quartet, Porthos. The one who’d promised that he wouldn’t wander very far off into the catacombs looking for their wayward trouble-inviting brother Aramis. Of course, Athos surmised, he had known that Porthos was going to defy his orders because when it came to Aramis, the man always threw caution to the wind. If one thought all four of the Inseparables were inseparable, they hadn’t met those two. Thick as thieves they were. Thank goodness they were blessed with their young Gascon years ago, Athos counted him as one of the more like-minded people he knew. He just had to keep him away from the other two as much as possible, the lad was quite impressionable.

In the end, though, Athos was confident that he alone was really the only sane person of the four.

Brother Thomas and he had waited only a short time for Porthos to return before heading off in the opposite direction underneath the Monastery. Porthos could find his own way to the surface, and should he not appear they could find him later. The goal was to come out somewhere near the main entrance, with the intent to lure the Spaniard’s leader to him and away from Aramis. Because honestly, if his wandering friend wasn’t in the catacombs, he was probably already back in the hands of these Spaniards. 

Athos and Thomas had used one of the secret passages hidden all over the Monastery and had made good time in getting to the front doors. They had just managed to crawl out of a well-concealed gap, between the stones, hidden by a large hanging tapestry when the massive wooden doors swung open with a loud boom. Athos jumped backwards, startled, and knocked Brother Thomas back into the hole from which they had just emerged.

"For the love of the King! D'Artagnan, must you enter a room like a child throwing a tantrum?" Athos gasped, one hand clutching at his heart. “The doors of a holy place must be respected and opened accordingly.”

D'Artagnan grinned wildly, he was standing in the middle of the now open doorway, hands still stretched outwards from flinging the doors open. He had two monks standing warily behind him blinking into the darkened foyer of the Monastery. D’Artagnan moved forward to embrace his Captain. “Would you believe we were attempting to make a grand entrance?” he asked, smirking.

“It was certainly heart-stopping,” responded a muffled voice. Athos raced back to the tapestry and pulled a slightly dishevelled Brother Thomas out from behind.

D’Artagnan’s face dropped in horror and he moved to grasp Thomas’ shoulders, “My apologies Father, it was not my intention to cause you any harm.”

The future Abbe merely shook his head and smiled at the younger man. “No harm done monsieur, none at all. Though perhaps a bit more restraint when opening very old doors in the future, hmmm?” he gently chastised. The monk moved towards the two younger of his brethren and embraced them whispering glad tidings amongst themselves.

Athos moved back towards his protege and grasped his shoulder in support. “Did you get the monks to safety? And word to Treville of Spain’s plans?” asked Athos.

D’Artagnan turned to look at both of the monks that had followed him back to the Monastery and nodded. “Brothers Gabriel and Henri have come to assist us in retaking the Monastery. I sent word to Paris only a few hours ago, but they won’t reach us until morning. The remainder of the monks are ensconced safely in the nearest town.”

Athos nodded, pleased.

“Athos, where is Porthos?” the younger Musketeer asked.

Athos removed his hand from d’Artagnan’s shoulder and adjusted his stance slightly. He cleared his throat and responded with an exasperated tinge to his voice, “Running a fool's errand.” D'Artagnan was confused but didn’t ask for any further information.

Athos glanced around suddenly frowning and walked to either side of the foyer, peeking into the rooms adjacent to both sides. “Where are all the guards?” he asked. He never received an answer from anyone as an ear piercing, soul shattering scream echoed throughout the Monastery. For the umpteenth time that day Athos nearly lost his footing, taken aback.

“What in God’s name was that?” asked d’Artagnan, eyes wide and startled.

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I hope this closely matches what you all have been waiting for?
> 
> Also please excuse my lack of medical knowledge.

Aramis felt soft, cool hands run through his hair and for a moment he let himself relax into the touch, forgetting where he was.  
  
“Aramis,” Bernadette whispered in his ear, “How is your knee doing?”  
  
“What?”  
  
“It’s dislocated Aramis, can’t you see?”  
  
Aramis glanced down at his knee, worried, and watched as Carlos moved towards his leg.  
  
“No! Wait! Please no!” He begged.  
  
Carlos laid a hand on the Aramis' thigh just above the knee and squeezed, earning a low moan from his captive. Then he squeezed tighter until Aramis’ hands were frantically trying to pull Carlos’ fingers off his leg. Tears were pooling in the monk's eyes and he couldn’t stop crying out in great heaving breaths. The knee was so swollen and out of joint, and the pressure of Carlos squeezing it, hurt far more than the stab wounds.

“I am going to enjoy resetting this, and then tearing it back out of joint a few times,” The evil man gleefully explained and squeezed the knee again.

Aramis’ blood froze at Carlos’ words, he was panicking now and he knew it. Pulling a joint out of position hurt, as it did to put it back in. Never mind a joint that was severely swollen and wouldn’t slide back in easily. Aramis had, had his fair share of dislocated shoulders, but never a knee.

He was so focused on trying to pry Carlos’ fingers from their death-grip that he didn’t notice as someone untied his leg from the chair and pulled it straight outwards. Aramis’ head was yanked backwards by Bernadette then and his hands flew upwards in shock releasing his hold on Carlos’ fingers. He whimpered, not entirely sure if it was the anticipation of what was to come or the pin prickling pain of Bernadette pulling his hair.  
  
A loud bang resonated throughout the room, startling Aramis more than he’d ever admit. He was close to hyperventilating and every sound was beginning to grate harshly in his ears. He knew he was going into shock.   
  
“Sir! Sir! you have to come!” Aramis heard through the haze of pain. A small thin man had come running into the room and frantically spoke to Carlos,“It’s the Musketeers! They’ve breached the front doors.”

They conversed for a very short period of time before Carlos bent close to Aramis’ ear and whispered, “I must take my leave, my friend, but mark my words — this isn’t over.”  
  
“Now Bernadette my darling, hold his head back. Julian grip his ankle right there, yes like that. Are we ready? Pull and twist his leg NOW!” screamed Carlos. The combination of Julian pulling and Carlos gripping his knee so tightly forced the joint back into place with the most sickening squelching sound Aramis had ever heard.   
  
Aramis' world went silent and his eyes widened as the pain rippled across his whole body. He wondered who was screaming as though the world had just ended.  
  
Oh… right…  
  
He never saw Carlos and his entourage leave.  
  
His arms bonelessly slid off the chair handles and his head fell backwards. He blinked exhaustedly at the ceiling, and with a great heaving sigh, he closed his eyes.

  
  
\--------------------------

  
  
Back in the kitchens, Porthos paused in horror as the scream cut through the silence. It was deafening and echoed in his ears for a long moment afterwards. The sound had chilled him to his bones. It took him less than a moment to regain some composure before he was racing out of the room and towards the source of that god-awful sound.  
  
He flung open every door he came across as he ran down a couple of long corridors, stopping only when he reached a set of double doors at the end of a hallway. Porthos paused there, fingers caressing the aged golden handle, bracing himself for what he might find when he opened the ornate wooden doors. Unlike he had with all the previous ones, Porthos opened these doors slowly, wincing when they made a harsh creaking sound in the deafening silence.  
  
The library was expansive, one of the largest that Porthos had ever seen, though really that wasn’t saying much. Porthos hadn’t been in quite that many libraries. It dawned on him that this would be the place Aramis would frequent the most. He could imagine the hours the man would have spent devouring book after book, absorbing the knowledge contained within the leather bindings. He put one foot cautiously through the doors, mindful of possible guards, and when nothing happened he breathed a sigh of relief. Walking fully into the dimly-lit room he looked around, trying to make out anything of importance, namely his best friend, and frowning when he found the room empty.  
  
He whispered out loud to the silent room, “Aramis where are you?” His whisper was surprisingly answered by a groan somewhere off to his right and he went racing off in that direction. There was a door that he hadn’t noticed before, with a very faint light shining from beneath and Porthos grasped the knob, yanking the door open.  
  
He couldn’t hold his gasp back when he saw what was in the room. Aramis looked half dead and extremely pale laying in a wooden chair. The man was bound by his chest, abdomen and one leg to the chair, and there was blood everywhere. The Monk was slightly damp and sweaty and looked to be one giant bruise. Honestly, Porthos concluded, the man’s bindings were the only thing keeping him from falling straight to the ground.  
  
“Oh, ‘Mis,” he sighed softly. “What have they done to you.”  
  
Porthos made quick work of undoing the ropes binding Aramis to the chair, and gently lifted the man into his arms, cradling him to his chest. His friend’s skin was ice-cold to the touch and Porthos glanced at the sheer amount of blood on the floor, instantly concerned about how much blood Aramis had lost. Correction — was losing. Porthos could already feel that his hands were slick from blood leaking out somewhere on the monk's body. He moved out of the small office nestled within the library and out into the main room where he thought in the dimness he had seen a long chaise-like couch. After stumbling over a couple of ill-placed objects, Porthos found what he was looking for and set the marksman down gently, mindful of hidden injuries. He then grabbed some candles that were conveniently lying around the room, probably thanks to late night reading, and lit them. He settled them close to Aramis in order to create some light so that he could take a look at his brother.  
  
Aramis’ wounds were extensive, much to Porthos’ dismay. His heart broke in sympathy as he took in the numerous bruises scattered over his friend’s torso. He ran his fingers down Aramis’ jawline, gently tracing the dark, angry bruise. His head wound was sluggishly bleeding, and Porthos dabbed at it with a small piece of cloth ripped from the marksman’s torn shirt. His eyes then wandered to the angry wound in his friend’s shoulder and he cursed on seeing that it was a ragged cut, like a knife, had been twisted while in his shoulder. He cursed again seeing that the cut went straight through, knowing that it would need to be stitched and that he was the worst one for the job.  
  
“P...Porthos?” A voice said weakly, snapping the man out of his somewhat silent examination. “You should not curse in God’s house.”  
  
Porthos chuckled, “Aramis, my friend, it is good to hear your voice.” He awkwardly embraced his brother, only backing off when the marksman hissed painfully.  
  
“Tell me where all your wounds are, Aramis. Please do not hide any from me," Porthos asked a moment later.  
  
Aramis frowned, glancing around to determine where he was. His mind was still a bit fuzzy from blood loss. He briefly thought of hiding some of the more serious wounds from his large friend, but he knew he would only be reprimanded later for lying. And, he thought to himself, he really was a horrible liar, “Oh, they are most numerous Porthos. You’ve undoubtedly seen the shoulder wound. Carlos stabbed me with a long knife.”  
  
“How does this man know you Aramis?”  
  
Aramis sighed, “I allowed his brother, Tobias, to die at the Savoy Massacre.”  
  
Porthos’ eyes widened at his brother’s revelation. “But you were no more at fault than any of the others that died that day, my friend.”  
  
Aramis just shook his head, disagreeing. “It is something I never thought I would need to atone for, and yet here I am, requiring absolution again.”  
  
Porthos grumbled lowly and reached for Aramis’ hands, gasping in horror at the puncture wounds that were still bleeding, “Aramis what-” he began.  
  
“Paring knives,” He responded matter of factly. “I was impaled.”  
  
Porthos made a choking sound then and turned Aramis’ hands upside down looking to the other side. “It’s a clean wound, straight to the other side. You’ll need stitching on both these and the shoulder…” He paused then.  
  
Aramis pulled his hand from Porthos’ and laid it on the side of the man’s face, “I know brother, and I will heal. I am the province’s resident doctor now, as you have undoubtedly heard. So I know these things. Besides, Carlos actually did me the biggest favour of all,” He said, beginning to grin quite wickedly.  
  
Porthos looked up at Aramis, confused, abandoning his other hand, watching the marksman as he gestured to his knee. “He was trying to cause me an alarming amount of pain, he just didn’t realize he’d be helping me by resetting my knee. He was interrupted before he could follow through on his threat to pull it back out,” The large man’s eyes widened in understanding, and he moved to grasp his friend’s injured knee.   
  
“Do not touch it Porthos! Do not look at it, do not breathe on it, and for the love of God, do not by any means spare a thought about my knee!” Aramis exclaimed.  
  
Porthos merely raised his brow in question chuckling slightly at his brother's response. “It hurts, Mon Ami, and I am so bloody tired of being hurt.” The marksman lay back on the chaise, defeated, and sighed tiredly. Porthos smiled softly and laid his hand over his best friend’s heart. “Is the room spinning, Porthos?”  
  
“Let’s patch you up and see if we can’t retake this monastery my friend,” Porthos was concerned that Aramis had asked about the moving room. He no doubt had a concussion. “And then you and I are having a long chat about your future endeavours.”  
  
Porthos didn’t wait for an answer; he merely got up and wandered over to a chest of drawers he had spied earlier, that were situated in a corner of the room. He rifled through the drawers and cheered like a child moments later, upon discovering the large medic’s bag that Aramis would carry on their missions so long ago. He looked towards his friend inquiringly, holding up the bag so the man could see it.  
  
“Ahh my medic bag,” Was the only response Porthos received.  
  
Porthos walked back to the chaise and dropped it unceremoniously onto Aramis’ lap and crossed his arms waiting for a sufficient answer as to why it was still intact.  
  
Aramis smirked for the second time that night. “Oh Porthos, despite giving up most of my worldly possessions, this was one thing I refused to part with.”  
  
Porthos took a moment to really look at his friend then and saw raw regret hovering on his face. He knelt down again in front of his best friend and grasped the man’s hand. “‘Mis, I truly hope that when all this is said and done, you give great consideration to returning to us. No, that’s a lie — I would be happy in just knowing you would return to me.”  
  
“Porthos…” Aramis said breathlessly, softly. “I’ve never left you, you have to believe that. In all this time, I have remained your closest friend. It is I who should ask that of you, ask that you not leave me behind. I make no promises because I do not know the answers, but with your friendship at my side I know that I will find those answers quicker.”  
  
It wasn’t an apology for the last four years, and Porthos hadn’t expected or required one, but knowing all the same that he hadn’t lost his brother made the man smile his first true smile since this blasted war had started.  
  
“Right then,” He croaked out, his voice wavering on emotionally embarrassing. “We need to stitch these up. You ready for this?”  
  
Aramis chose that moment to ignore him instead asking, “Porthos? Where are Athos and our young Gascon? Have my monk brothers found safety?”  
  
“D’Artagnan took the monks to a local village, and Brother Thomas stayed with Athos in the catacombs, looking for a safe way to the surface of the Monastery.”  
  
“Athos allowed you to mount a rescue alone?”  
  
“Not exactly,” Porthos replied, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.  
  
“Porthos! What have you done?”  
  
“I may have defied our Captain’s explicit orders to not go further than absolutely necessary…” He trailed off.

Aramis had to lean forward just to make out his best friend's last words. He smiled a large eye-crinkling grin and started laughing. “Oh, you must allow me to read the eulogy at your funeral, Mon Ami!” He laughed harder a moment later as a bundle of bandages sailed through the air knocking into the side of his head, followed by an angry growl.  
  
“See if I patch you up now, you miscreant!” Porthos said indignantly.


	9. Chapter 9

They could hear the thundering of many footsteps echoing down the hallway as they readied themselves. Athos and d’Artagnan were side by side, swords out and pistols drawn. Thomas, Henri and Gabriel were spread out behind them, holding Athos' main gauche and a few other weapons that they hoped would help in the upcoming confrontation.

D’Artagnan was nervous; he was worried about the untrained monks behind him, about Aramis’ whereabouts and health, about where Porthos was, and about the anger radiating off his Captain. He had no doubt that in mere moments he would be locked in battle against the Spaniards because there would be no chance of them giving up the monastery through negotiation. France could not afford to lose the opportunity to have Douai in their alliances, as it would leave her open for an attack. Which was evident by their current predicament in Carlos’ mutiny. 

D’Artagnan was also sure that Athos was blaming himself for not coming to the same conclusion years ago. He also wondered if the man had put some expectations on Aramis’ shoulders unwittingly, to handle something of this nature should the situation arise. Either way you looked at it, though, the Musketeers had failed their country and it was time to make it right. 

He watched warily as the Spaniards filed into the small foyer that Athos had chosen for the confrontation. There looked to be about ten or twelve men fanning out around Carlos, the man himself standing with one hand propped on his hip and the other holding a broadsword with the blade laying flat on his shoulder.

Athos and Carlos locked gazes for a moment, each of their eyes darkening, but it was Carlos who spoke first. “Athos! How nice to see you again. But I am afraid you are several hours too late for our agreed meeting. Sundown, was it not?” 

D’Artagnan watched as Athos’ fists clenched upon the weapons he was holding, making his knuckles go white. He had forgotten that the original plan before the monks had surprised them all by being resilient and escaping on their own, had been to meet at sundown.

"And I believe the terms were the safety of all the monks in the monastery. They’ve managed to escape on their own, so your demands are null and void," Stated Athos. "However there is still the main matter at hand. You will not be seizing this monastery, you are not welcome in France, and you will hand over your remaining captive." 

The leader just laughed menacingly and continued. “No, my dear Musketeer, I will not be handing over your precious friend. He has a blood debt to settle with my family and in the condition I abandoned him in, while you so rudely interrupted, that debt could very well have been filled."

"Aramis has never committed such an act to warrant a blood feud," Athos spat. "You speak nonsense!"

"He allowed my brother to die at Savoy!" Carlos spat back, just as angrily. "And then he refused to even offer my parents condolences. Just sat there silent and judging. Oh no, Athos, I will have that man’s life in repayment, and when you are picking up his broken body I will sweep in and destroy your pathetic country and all it stands for."

Athos growled. It was barely discernible to anyone not close to him, but d'Artagnan knew that the man was going to pounce any second and sink his proverbial claws into Carlos. He felt the need to say something quickly to slow down Athos' mounting rage.

"You can't have expected that we would sacrifice an entire country to save a few monks. And if you think you've so easily killed Aramis then you do not know the resilience of a King's Musketeer," D'Artagnan said.

He added a moment later, "No offense meant, brothers. 

"None taken my friend," Brother Thomas responded.

D'Artagnan looked towards Athos, who seemed to have settled, if only slightly. 

"Not for one second will I allow you to believe that Aramis owes you a life-debt. Savoy was not his doing and we nearly lost him to grief in the months that followed. Your remembrance of the event is clouded by the same grief Aramis felt for his dead brothers," responded Athos passionately. He was moving backwards slightly, trying to give himself some space. "And I am afraid, Spaniard, you will not be getting any closer to French soil, neither this day nor any others." 

Athos then raised his sword point to Carlos' throat, clearly stating his intentions.

"Hand over our friend and surrender yourself as a prisoner of war, or die by a Musketeer’s sword."

 

\-------------

 

“Aramis? Where did Carlos and the rest of the guards go?” Porthos asked as he finished the last stitches to his friend’s body. He had wrapped both of the marksman’s hands, cleaned the head wound and then re-wrapped his knee just for extra support. He would be doing the same to his shoulder as soon as he could gather some more bandages from the medic’s bag.

His friend had just laid back against the chaise and closed his eyes, allowing Porthos to do his needlework. “I am unsure Porthos. I somewhat remember hearing someone say Musketeers and front door? I am sorry I am not more help.”

Porthos finished wrapping Aramis' arm in a sling, tying it up on the top of the shoulder in a tight knot that he tugged on to test if it would hold. Satisfied, he stood up and paced back and forth for a moment frowning in thought. “Mis, if Athos found his way to the surface, he's going to need help. He only has Brother Thomas with him and won't be able to handle Carlos and his men alone.”

Aramis reached up and grabbed Porthos’ hand stalling the man midstride; he could see his friend was conflicted as to what to do. “Go, my friend. I will remain here and be quite fine.”

“Now why don’t I believe that for a second?”

Aramis smiled and squeezed Porthos’ hand a bit tighter, as much as he could manage with what little strength he had. “I am in no shape to be going very far Porthos. Please help Athos.”

Porthos shook his head in disagreement. “I'm not leaving you behind my friend. I just got you back. If anyone comes looking for you, you'd be nothing more than a sitting duck.”

“I'm insulted!” Aramis said mockingly, as he brought his arm across his chest and laid his hand over his heart. His brows furrowed together worried and he bit his lower lip slightly, thinking. Finally after a moment he looked up to Porthos. “Help me up then.”

“What?”

“I'm not sitting around waiting for you to make up your mind, so I am making it for you. Also, your pacing is giving me a headache.” He paused as Porthos' brows raised slightly in disbelief. “Fine, worse than the splitting headache I already have. Better?”

Porthos began pacing again, grumbling about foolish monks and weighing pros and cons of the situation; Aramis sat back and smiled at him, amused. He pulled the medic's bag from the floor beside the chaise and settled it into his lap, rummaging through the contents and picking things from the ground and placing them inside. At the bottom of the bag, Aramis found one of his old daggers and he slipped it underneath one of the looser bandages at his forearm, satisfied when it was barely noticeable at a quick glance. Placing the last of the medical supplies into the bag, Aramis slung it gingerly over his head and shoulder so that the strap rested across his chest. He slyly glanced at Porthos to ensure his brother was still pacing distractedly, and then carefully pulled his injured shoulder from the sling that his friend had just constructed.

Bracing himself and hissing at the pressure being placed on the palms of his hands, Aramis pushed himself into a standing position. He was pleased with the significantly lessened pain in his knee and while he still would need help moving around, he could actually put some weight on it.

“Por--,” he began, grinning at his accomplishment. He was interrupted by a loud gunshot echoing through the monastery. It startled Aramis, and he took a step backwards and felt his good knee buckling. He flailed wildly as he collapsed calling out for Porthos as he went down.

Porthos froze in place, initially startled by the loud bang the gun had made. He hadn't heard Aramis' cries and when he turned, fumbling towards the chaise his heart stopped upon seeing it devoid of his friend.

“Aramis! What?” He asked haltingly. He was confused as to why his friend was lying pale and shaking on the ground beside the chaise, instead of on the chaise. “Why the hell are you on the floor?”

“That was a gunshot Porthos. We need to find Athos now!”

“I'm well aware of what it was Aramis, but are you--”

“I'm fine, I jarred my shoulder when I fell. I'm okay. Help me up, please.”

Aramis raised his arms and Porthos struggled, hesitant to grasp his brother anywhere that would cause him further pain. In the end, he just gripped Aramis by one hand and swiftly yanked him upwards. Aramis swayed for a moment and threw his good arm over Porthos' shoulder, ignoring the confused glance that Porthos gave him upon seeing the medic’s bag slung over his shoulders.

“Don't ask. Porthos, the gunshot, please.”

Porthos nodded and helped Aramis hobble towards the door of the library.

They raced as fast as they could down the hallways and past the kitchens searching for Athos and Brother Thomas. They encountered no one and Porthos was becoming increasingly worried at the absence of the guards. With each room seemingly emptier than the last Aramis deflated a bit until they reached the empty chapel and he begged for Porthos to set him down on one of the pews. He hunched over resting his head against the pew in front of him and whispered pathetically, “Check the foyer Porthos. Leave me here, please.”

“I don't want to leave you alone, 'Mis,” Porthos responded softly. He rested his hand on top of Aramis' head, tousling his curls slightly in silent support. “You have this tendency to disappear.”

Aramis smiled and looked up towards Porthos, “Fair enough my friend. Just go down that hall and check the foyer. I promise I will remain here.”

“You had better be, because if you aren't, I'll kill you with my bare hands!”

“And I would come back to haunt you... enough with the idle threats. Porthos, please go find Athos. I am beyond worried.”

Porthos lingered only a moment more before he removed his hand from Aramis' hair and raced out towards the entrance to the monastery.

 

The scene that Porthos happened upon in the foyer made his blood begin to boil. Athos and Brother Thomas were nowhere visible. There were dead bodies littered everywhere, blood splattered on the walls and a single pistol lying spent on the ground near the stairs. Porthos bent down and picked up the weapon examining it. He did not recognize the pistol and his head pounded at the knowledge that someone on their side might be injured, assuming it was one of the Spaniards weapons. Seized by rage, he stood back up and began checking the bodies of the dead, flipping them over, looking for telltale signs of his friends. He sighed in relief when he didn't find anyone he recognized, but it also didn't escape his notice that none of the wounds on these men were from gunshots. The lack of his friends, coupled with no gunshot wounds only raised more questions than answers, starting with where both Athos and Carlos were.

He whirled around doing a second sweep of the room looking for the leader of the invaders and instead came upon a body that made him sigh in sadness. He knelt down beside the body of a young monk and gently pressed his fingers to the man's throat, already knowing that he wouldn't find a pulse. The monk had a long gash beginning at his shoulder and extending down across his torso and ending at his hip on the other side. A gruesome death that Porthos wouldn't wish on anyone. He closed his eyes a moment offering a silent, but quick prayer for the dead.

Armed with the knowledge that at least his friend hadn't met his death in this room, Porthos moved to rejoin Aramis in the chapel.

And of course, Aramis was nowhere to be found.

Porthos cursed loudly and stalked fully into the chapel, looking down in between the pews for his missing friend. He stopped cold when he found Aramis' medic bag and its contents, strewn carelessly on the floor.

“Aramis!” He bellowed.

A soft, puzzled and very much not Aramis voice, answered a moment later. “Porthos? Is that you? Help, please!”

Porthos recognized d'Artagnan's voice and ran towards the other end of the chapel to find the younger musketeer and Brother Thomas supporting a barely conscious Athos between them. Another monk that Porthos hadn't met before trailed them, worryingly glancing behind him every so often.

“What happened?” he asked as they laid their captain down along one of the pews. Athos' uniform was covered in blood and Porthos raced to grab the discarded medic's bag from the ground.

Thomas grabbed for it gratefully and pulled open Athos' leather jacket to get at the wound on his left shoulder. “The bullet went straight through, thank the stars. The risk of infection will be greatly reduced.”

D'Artagnan looked at Porthos with wide eyes, terrified. “Carlos shot him. Just raised the pistol and shot him. Then he took off down the hallway and left Thomas and me to defend ourselves against the remainder of the guards. We had two other monks with us, Gabriel and Henri. I have no clue where Gabriel is and their safety was my responsibility!”

“Oh d'Artagnan, I'm so sorry. The other monk, he died in the foyer.”

"What? no!" D'Artagnan cried. "How could this have happened..."

D'Artagnan closed his eyes and lowered himself to the ground, he leaned against the pew and sobbed.

 


	10. Chapter 10

He'd honestly had every intention of waiting for Porthos in the chapel. He'd rested his head on the pew in front of him, listening as Porthos' determined steps walked out of the chapel towards the foyer. He'd begun praying for Athos' safety, for the safety of his friends and for strength to get through this. Armed with the knowledge that his best friend would be back shortly, Aramis let his guard down slightly, reveling in the silence. He had just finished his whispered prayers when a hand clamped over his mouth and a vile voice met his ear.

“Scream, and I will cut your throat, make any sound and I will kill your friends before they even realize I was in the room.”

“Car--” 

“What did I just say?” A knife was pressed to Aramis' throat, right over the large vein in his neck and he was hauled unceremoniously to his feet. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he spied Bernadette, but he was yanked to the side and dragged towards the kitchens, so he couldn't be sure.

He was slammed into one of the walls of the kitchen, the blade that had been held to his throat was tossed to the kitchen floor and clattered away under a cabinet. Carlos replaced the blade with his hands and squeezed and Aramis struggled to draw a breath, his hands scratching furiously at Carlos' palms against his throat.

“Listen to me you worthless thing,” Carlos growled furiously. “I find that I have run out of time. I would have loved to torture you slowly, make you beg for death. I wanted to toss your broken and battered body in front of the musketeers as a lesson, but I underestimated your resilience. My brother deserved to live, and you should have died that day.”

It felt to Aramis that with each word spoken, Carlos grasped his neck harder. The edges of his vision were graying out and his lungs felt as though they were going to burst. His mind was slowly losing its clarity and his heart beat was pulsating in his ears. He sluggishly rolled his eyes to Carlos' mouth and his brain told him that the man was still speaking.

“--I followed you for a long time and was elated to find you alone here. It was fate that I was assigned this mission and I will be damned if I allow your presence to ruin my impending glory. I will destroy all of France and I see now, that you will always hinder that. You do not deserve a quick death for what you did to my brother, but you will die knowing that your friends will soon follow.”

His friends. Athos, Porthos, and d'Artagnan. Aramis was having a hard time focusing, his body was beginning to shake and convulse in Carlos' hands. It wouldn't be long now, the once graying edges of his vision were blackening now. The kitchen was dimming... But those names repeated themselves in his mind. Athos and Porthos and d'Artagnan. Would his friends miss him? Would they blame themselves? The answer was simple. Yes. And he didn't want to be responsible for that. He, Porthos and Athos had made a pact once, a long time ago, while extremely drunk in some tavern. They had just completed a harrowing mission in which none of them had been left unscathed. They had agreed that they all would die together. And despite d'Artagnan not being part of the original pact, Aramis knew without a doubt that their youngest was part of it.

Suddenly Aramis' mind cleared and a surge of adrenaline rushed through his veins. He couldn't die and leave them to defend his country against Spain alone. This was not part of their agreement, and Porthos would likely revive him and tell him as such. None of them deserved to die, not today. Aramis stared at Carlos fiercely, his eyes darkening in fury. Carlos stopped his monologue, his words stuttering to an end and the man loosened his hold on Aramis slightly, not enough for him to draw anything but the smallest of gasps. He slowly dragged one hand off of Carlos' arm and reached for his other arm, pulling the long dagger out from under the bandages on his forearm. Aramis saw his eyes widen in understanding as Aramis gripped the hilt of the blade. Aramis didn't blink and didn't make a single sound, he steadily held Carlos' gaze. Pointing the blade upwards towards the soft part under the man's jaw, Aramis drove the blade in, slicing up into Carlos' skull, stopping only when the base of the hilt slammed into the skin.

Carlos' death was instant. 

\---------------

No sooner had d'Artagnan slumped to the ground with a sob, when a million questions assaulted his mind. He looked over at Porthos, wiping the tears that had fallen. “What happened here? Did you find Aramis? Where were you all this time?”

“I had him d'Artagnan, Aramis, I had him here. He said he wouldn't the leave this room and he is gone. I'm so angry at him for leaving, but what if he didn't leave by his own choice? Did someone come and take him by force? What if he is hurt? Did you kill Carlos?.” 

Porthos stood up and grabbed d'Artagnan's hand and pulled him to his feet. “We need to find him, Thomas--” He didn't get the chance to finish he was saying as a shriek was heard from the direction of the kitchen. It was high and piercing and while not as blood-curdling as the scream earlier, it still concerned d'Artagnan. Porthos whirled around towards the source of the scream and his eyes narrowed menacingly. He growled low and glanced towards Athos, who was still lying, unmoving on the chapel pew. D'Artagnan knew that Porthos was checking to see that Athos would be okay for the moment because the man had every intention of going to find Aramis. 

Brother Thomas had come to the same conclusion as he had because the monk waved them off. Thomas had stripped Athos of his jacket and was threading a needle to sew up the wound. Henri had pulled a bundle of bandages out of the medic's bag and along with a bottle of brandy, held them, ready to assist Thomas. “Go and find out what that scream was, Henri and I will fix this,” Thomas said quietly, as he wiped away the blood coating the gunshot wound.

“Do you think he'll be okay?” D'Artagnan asked as he moved to follow Porthos towards the kitchens. He wasn't really sure whether it was Athos or Aramis he was asking about, but he was equally worried about both. He never liked seeing Athos hurt, the man was his mentor and if d'Artagnan was being honest with himself, he held Athos in fairly high regard. It made him incredibly nervous that his Captain was felled so easily. And if Athos went down that easily, what condition was Aramis in after being in Carlos' clutches longer?

“He wasn't okay when I found him the first time,” Porthos answered him a moment later. “And Thomas said that Athos should be fine.” 

D'Artagnan was relieved that Porthos understood what he had meant when he asked the question. He glanced one last time at Athos, who was still worryingly pale, and then met brother Thomas' quick gaze. The monk nodded and assured d'Artagnan that Athos would be in good hands. Then he turned and raced to catch up to Porthos, who had run towards the kitchens.

When he arrived in the kitchen d'Artagnan was met with a comical sight. A smallish blond woman was dodging around the kitchen, avoiding Porthos' grasp, and waving a ladle threateningly. There were two bodies on the ground and the woman was trying to get to them, shrieking for the large man blocking her way, to move. D'Artagnan took a closer look at the bodies and was shocked to see a dead Carlos, with a dagger up his throat, splayed on the kitchen floor. Aramis was nearby, laying on the floor, back to the wall and curled into himself, cradling his arm. It was obvious there had been a struggle here and that Aramis had won. D'Artagnan bent down and checked Carlos' throat for a pulse, already knowing that a man couldn't survive a dagger to the brain.

“D'Artagnan!” Porthos shouted, lunging for the woman again, earning a swipe of the ladle to his stomach. “Check on Aramis, she smashed that ladle into his arm just as I ran in.”

“He killed my beloved, he's going to die! Let me go!” The blond woman screamed, she ran towards Aramis and was stopped by Porthos' arm wrapping around her middle. With his other hand, he grabbed her wrist and squeezed it until she dropped the ladle she was using as a weapon.

“Calm down, you bloody wench!” He covered her mouth with his large palm to stop her mindless screeching.

While Porthos was struggling to calm the woman down, d'Artagnan bent down beside Aramis, resting his hand on the man's arm. “Aramis?” He asked softly, so as not to startle his friend. Aramis just blinked his eyes open and stared blankly at d'Artagnan. It was obvious that the man had been strangled because d'Art could see the beginnings of dark bruising forming a wide collar around his neck. 

“Bernadette didn't burn the stew, she lied,” Aramis stated. D'Artagnan raised his eyebrow in confusion, he had no clue what Aramis meant by the stew. The monks voice was hoarse and he spoke barely above a whisper and that worried d'Artagnan. He prayed that there wouldn't be any lasting damage to his voice as he traced the bruising lightly with his fingertips. His worry for his friend rose when Aramis didn't respond to the touch. Aramis was always seeking the touch of others, always the one needing a hug or to sit next to someone, shoulders braced against his seatmate. Instead the man just stared blankly at Carlos' body, not reacting to any of the action going on around him.

“Is he okay?” Porthos asked.

“He's pretty out of it Porthos,” D'Artagnan responded, he moved over slightly, blocking Carlos' body from Aramis' line of sight. “Aramis, can you look at me?” He waved his hand in front of Aramis' unseeing eyes.

The lack of response still alarmed him, but d'Artagnan decided to check the rest of Aramis before trying to bring him back to reality. The arm that Bernadette had smashed with the ladle was bleeding profusely, d'Art pulled off the bandages to see that the stitches had torn and reopened the long cut. Other than that, the rest of his injuries didn't look to be in urgent need of care. He'd have to wait until Aramis was back in his right mind to find out how his throat would fare.

“Can you get him up?” Porthos asked. He had finally bound Bernadette's arms behind her back, with a piece of cooking twine that he'd found hanging underneath one of the cupboards. 

D'Artagnan looked back down at Aramis and tapped his cheek to see if he could get a reaction out of the man. He watched as his friends eyes cleared a fraction and Aramis' gaze locked onto the ladle. 

“Oh God, not again,” Aramis' eyes widened and he shuffled backward, trying to hide in the wall.

Bernadette cackled at Aramis' frantic movements, she bit down on Porthos' hand and twisted in his arms, kicking the ladle towards the monk. It clattered across the floor and came to rest against Aramis' fingers. Porthos yelped and adjusted Bernadette in his arms. “Be still woman!” He said angrily and looked at his hand. “She bit me!”

“Did she break the skin?”

“No, it just hurt. I wasn't expecting that.”

“I'd bite you too if you put your hand over my mouth,” D'artagnan responded, smiling as Porthos grumbled.

D'artagnan glanced back down at Aramis to convince him to try standing up but paused as his friend slowly grasped the handle of the ladle and twisted it, watching the firelight of the kitchen hearth dance across the metal.

“Right then, okay,” Porthos broke the silence, he guided Bernadette towards d'Artagnan. “Take her from me. We will escort this woman to Paris, where she can answer for her crimes.” He handed over Bernadette and picked up Aramis gently, frowning when the man whimpered and clutched the ladle harder. “Let's get him to the chapel and figure out what's happened.”

“What is with that ladle Porthos?”

“I have no idea, but there seems to be a story behind it. Aramis won't let go of it. I think this woman was the one who helped him up from the catacombs, look how dirty her shoes and the bottom of her skirts are.” Porthos glanced down into his arms, Aramis had buried his face into his friend's chest and had closed his eyes. “He's just a bit out of sorts. Strangling will do that to a person. We'll attend to Athos and see if we can rouse Aramis in a little bit.”

D'Artagnan nodded and dragged Bernadette forward to follow Porthos back into the main chapel area.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So this is the last chapter with an epilogue to follow... I am so sad it's over. Thanks so much for joining me and reading this!!

They made their way back to the chapel, Porthos carrying Aramis and d'Artagnan struggling along with a writhing Bernadette. When they entered the first thing they saw was brother Thomas gently helping a very awake Athos into an upright position. D'Artagnan quickly handed over Bernadette to Henri and ran to his mentor, kneeling beside the man.

“Athos? Are you okay? When you got shot I thought the worst!”

Athos smiled thinly and braced his hands on the pew in front of him. His skin was pale in stark contrast to the nearly black blood that coated his clothing. “I'll be fine d'Artagnan,” Athos responded with a grimace. “Did you find Aramis?”

“He's right here,” said Porthos, the man gently sat Aramis down beside him. He's coming around now, he's been confused. He killed Carlos and we captured this woman.”

Aramis blinked and looked around the chapel as if he was seeing where he was for the first time, he finally stopped and glanced up meeting Athos' concerned gaze, “Bernadette. Her name is Bernadette.” He held up the ladle he still had in his hand and handed it tiredly to Porthos, who took it gratefully and moved it somewhere Aramis didn't see.

Aramis laid his head on Athos unharmed shoulder with a soft sigh. He watched absentmindedly as Thomas came to him with his old medic's bag and proceeded to restitch his arm. He watched as d'Artagnan and Henri tidied up the chapel, Henri mopped up the drops of blood left by Athos wound, and d'Artagnan picked up a long coil of rope. Aramis assumed it was the rope from when he was strung up in the chapel earlier. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Porthos' struggle to secure a still screeching Bernadette. He had taken off his bandana and was currently winding it around the back of her head to create a gag.

Aramis also knew that Athos was watching him closely. “Shot?” He questioned the captain.

“Shoulder, through and through. Strangled?” Athos responded with a question of his own.

Aramis nodded, trying to clear his throat. “It will heal.”

He felt Athos lean into him a little bit more and he smiled, content to let the last bits of fog in his brain burn away. For the first time in over a day, Aramis felt content. He was amongst his friends and they were almost all healthy and safe. There was a small amount of light starting to filter in through the stained glass windows and Aramis was surprised to realize that it was the sun rising.

“A new dawn, a new day,” He murmured, louder than he had meant to, as everyone stopped what they were doing and turned to stare at their friend. “Is it over? Is all this over?”

Aramis felt his eyes well up as the events of the day and night caught up to him and he felt his emotions tumble over. An arm was thrown over his shoulder by Porthos who came to sit beside him on the pew. Athos hand raked through Aramis' curls and d'Artagnan knelt backward in the pew in front of them and commanded his friends attention.

“There are a few things left undone,” d'Artagnan explained. “But I think it's safe to say your ordeal with Carlos is over.”

“Carlos wasn't wrong, you know? I was hardly myself back then, I should have done everything I could to make sure Tobias' family was looked after. I am not sure why I forgot them. Carlos had every right to be angry with me.”

Porthos grunted in disagreement and opened his mouth to speak, but it was d'Artagnan again, who spoke, “You can't believe that you are responsible for events out of your control Aramis.” He stretched his arms forward and grasped Aramis' neck and pulled the man forward so their foreheads were touching. “You've asked for forgiveness and received it, but have you forgiven yourself?”

Aramis took a deep breath and smiled, “When did you get so wise, whelp?” They stayed in that position a moment longer and then Aramis sat back and laid his head once more on Athos' shoulder.

“Speaking of which, Porthos.” Athos adjusted in the seat, letting Aramis' head rest better and put his arm back over the man's shoulder. Truth be told, Athos really needed that extra support from Aramis. He was feeling extremely tired from blood loss and the pain in his shoulder was spiking. “I could have you arrested for disobeying my explicit orders earlier. What were you thinking? I know you needed to find Aramis, and it all worked out, but you could have jeopardized the entire operation.

Porthos at least had the common sense to looked chastised, and Athos smiled as the man looked downwards into his hands, that were resting in his lap. “I am not going to apologize for finding Aramis, so I am guessing you will be arresting me later.”

Porthos' face was completely serious and Athos had a retort ready when he felt Aramis shudder, and then shudder more. “Aramis?” He turned slightly in his seat and looked at Porthos who had moved to brace the now trembling man.

D'Artagnan reached over the back of the pew and brushed Aramis' hair away from his face. His eyes widened slightly before he sat back with a grin. “He's fine, he's laughing.”

Athos and Porthos shared a confused look before turning back to their now laughing friend. “I had forgotten,” Aramis began, he struggled to form each word between his giggles. “After all that happened today, and all the stuff yet to come, I had forgotten that Porthos was going to meet his end for running off and disobeying orders like a fledgling soldier.”

“Can I speak the eulogy at his funeral?” Asked d'Artagnan.

“That's what I said!” Responded Aramis, grinning. “We will compose it together!”

Porthos and Athos both growled, the latter clearing his throat and gripped the back of Aramis' neck firmly. “This isn't funny, Aramis.”

Both Aramis and d'Artagnan stopped laughing and traded an ominous look. Then much to the annoyance of Athos and Porthos the two younger men started laughing even harder.

"Leave it be Athos," Aramis said. "Let it go."

Athos sighed and rubbed Aramis' neck reassuringly. "Very well, but speaking of letting it go--"

'Gentleman, if I may interrupt?” Brother Thomas and Henri were standing side by side and the four men turned around to listen to Thomas' request. None of them had heard the two monks leave the room during their conversation.

“Thomas?” Asked Athos.

“There is a messenger here from the village. It seems as though the Minister of War has arrived, along with a small retinue of Musketeers. They have inquired of your well being, and would like to know if the monastery is secure.” Thomas walked towards the pews and handed Aramis a letter he pulled from the folds of his cassock and then bent to assist Athos in standing. Porthos and d'Artagnan followed suit, leaving Aramis the only person still sitting, assured by the hand Porthos placed on his shoulder to keep him seated.

“This letter has the kings seal on it,” Aramis commented running his fingertip over the red wax seal.

“We will ride at once to the village and send the monks back with a couple of soldiers. They will assist in clearing out your foyer. My deepest apologies Thomas for leaving your monastery in shambles.” Athos said.

Thomas glanced around at the now sunlit chapel in reverence and made the sign of the cross. “This is a house of God and you all have aided in its safe keeping. It is us who are indebted to you. Please send our brothers back, but it is not necessary to send your soldiers with them. We will take care of the dead and read them their last rites, it is what we do.”

“Aramis?” Asked d'Artagnan softly, he was watching his friend still touching the seal on the letter. “Will you be joining us?”

There was no mistake the eagerness in the gascon's voice, and looking at his brothers surrounding him, Aramis knew, with sudden clarity, what his answer for the moment would be. “I won't be returning with you to Paris, my friends... This isn't going to be forever.” He continued when Porthos' face fell in misery. “I promise this won't be forever. I have unfinished business to attend to, that I didn't realize existed until today. I have a wrong to make right and despite you all thinking otherwise, my soul will not know peace until I, as you said before d'Art, forgive myself.”

Silence reigned in the chapel for a long few minutes, a suspicious sniffle coming from Porthos' direction breaking the tension. “Can you accept this Athos?” Aramis asked.

“I don't see that I have a choice, my friend, I am not your Captain.” He gripped Aramis shoulder with his good hand and then held it suspended before him. “All for one?”

Three more hands came down on top of Athos' and they responded, “And one for all”

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe this is done... let alone being done and 12 chapters long!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading this, I hope you all loved it... or at least liked it marginally?

3 months later...

 

Aramis raced down the stairs of the inn he was staying at, in the small village near the Douai Monastery. He'd given his monk brothers a fond farewell three days prior and had traveled to the village for the remainder of his stay in this part of the countryside. He'd spent the majority of his days here tending to the ill and ensuring that the small town would remain healthy until he could next visit.

He'd known that day when his friends had left the monastery, that Douai wasn't his home any longer. When he'd opened the letter from the King later that evening, ensconced in Brother Thomas' office, he had been floored at the information it contained. It stated that he would be recommissioned as the regiments priest and physician. He was to be made one of the Society of Jesus, a Jesuit, one of God's Soldiers. Thomas and he had debated long and hard over what to do, but Aramis knew he was just delaying the inevitable. He was always going to go back to his friends.

Brother Thomas had explained to Aramis that the man serving as the Black Pope had been looking for someone to serve in Paris, close to the King and Queen. Since the Cardinal's untimely death, there had been a distinct lack of the church's presence among the King's court. The position itself wouldn't be without its downfalls, however, as Aramis was required to venture out to the smaller villages and aid them in any way he could. Specifically as a physician, but he was assigned to Athos and would largely follow his orders.

After that night, it was as though all the puzzle pieces fell into place. He knew he needed to seek out any remaining family Tobias may have and offer condolences. He was pretty sure Porthos was to blame for him remaining a Musketeer despite his desire to retire four years ago. And he was positive that the late Abbe Michael and the Queen had something to do with his elevated position amongst the Jesuits. But he chose not to question it. He was a soldier, serving God and he would be with his friends.

“Athos!” He said breathlessly, as he hit the bottom of the stairs and entered the tavern area of the inn. His friend was seated at one of the tables in the far corner, a decanter of wine and two glasses sitting on the table before him. “You are a sight for sore eyes, my friend.” Aramis sat in the closest chair to Athos, reaching over to embrace him in a hug, earning him a wary glare from the man.

“You called me here, what is it that you need?”

Aramis didn't say anything to start, instead pulling a letter out of the folds of his leather jacket and pushed it across the table. “Remember that letter from the King?”

Athos straightened in his seat and stole a look at Aramis, the man looked well and extremely happy. Athos would even go so far as to say unburdened. They hadn’t had much contact in the three months since they had returned to the battlefront, but what correspondence they had, was positive. Despite Athos acting as though it didn’t matter why Aramis had called him here, he was terribly nervous. Athos hoped that Aramis was going to return home, he was nearly vibrating, trying to hold himself back from literally hauling the younger man over his shoulder and carrying him back to Paris. Athos blinked a moment later when Aramis cleared his throat, he’d been staring longer than he had meant to. He picked up the letter and opened it, and his eyes widened in surprise. “How?” He asked.

“Apparently I have more guardian angels than I know what to do with.”

“So you are returning then?” Athos asked, hopeful.

“I am,” Aramis said, smiling proudly. “I haven't found my forgiveness, but I believe that I will. There are always going to be a few loose ends to tie up in life. And I've come to understand that this could be a life-long endeavor, but I am determined. And who better to achieve this with than my closest friends?”

Athos smiled then, happier than he could have imagined. “Then I welcome you back into the ranks of the Musketeers, under my command.”

Aramis and Athos stood up and embraced each other, the former laughing and the latter gripping his friends' shoulder tightly, afraid if he let go this would turn out to be a cruel dream.

“You need to know something Athos,” He pulled out of the embrace and placed his hands on his hips glancing down as if afraid to speak. “I forgave you for forcing me to leave, long before I left. I need you to not hold yourself accountable for these past years, I had lost sight of myself if you will. I know that now.”

“Thank you Aramis, it is good to hear those words.” There was a hint of emotion lying underneath Athos words, and Aramis looked up sharply into Athos' eyes.

“You missed me didn't you?”

Athos rolled his eyes dramatically and responded with the most tedious sounding voice he could manage, “I am not sure how I ever lived without you.”

Aramis laughed again, his laughter warmed the room, despite it nearing winter. They both sat down again and Aramis grabbed the decanter of wine, pouring them both a glass of the liquid.

“What became of Bernadette, if you don’t mind my asking?” Aramis questioned, as he took a long drink from the cup.

“She was tried and found guilty of conspiring against King and Country and of capturing and torturing one of God’s servants. I mean, it wasn’t much of a trial in the end, she was hung the next morning.”

Aramis’ eyes widened in surprise at the news of Bernadette’s death. “They moved fast!”

“The King is dying, Aramis.” Athos said he swirled the remainder of his wine in the cup before swallowing the rest. “Louis is scrambling to leave his mark in history and Treville is doing everything he can to end this war with Spain. Paris is in upheaval, everything is moving fast these days.”

“Where are Porthos and d’Artagnan? are they still on the battlefront?”

“No, the troops have been recalled in a cease-fire. They both wanted to join me here, but your letter suggested that you wanted me to come alone.”

“I wanted a chance to speak with you alone,” Aramis smiled. “Wait for me Athos, I am coming back with you immediately.” He pushed his chair back and stood up, making his way towards the stairs to his room.

Athos set his glass down and stood up, preparing to go to the stables and ready the horses. The peace treaty between France and Spain was well on its way to fruition and Les Inseparables were back together. Athos couldn't wish for anything more, except...

“What is the story with the ladle, Aramis?”

Aramis’ shoulders drooped and he sighed long and suffering. “Cooking instruments should not be weapons. It was part of her story to get me out of the catacombs. Bernadette was a clever woman and I am not surprised that she found a secret entrance to the catacombs. What does surprise me is that she managed to find me in that maze. Luck wasn’t on my side that day, my friend.”

“She was Carlos’ wife, did you know that?”

“No one said as such, but I suspected.” Aramis had turned around and frowned. “If I ever see a ladle again, though, it will be too soon.” He spun around again and went towards the stairs to grab his things.

_Yes, things were back to normal_ , Athos thought.

 

The end.

 


End file.
